


October

by super_leaf



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: 1st person pov, Angst, Eventual Smut, Eventual relationship, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Minor Characters - Freeform, Pentatonix Family, Scomiche, completed work, long chapters, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-05-07 21:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/super_leaf/pseuds/super_leaf
Summary: In October, Mitch Grassi made a grave mistake.When Mitch and Scott must make an unwanted trip to the hospital, the life they’ve so carefully built together seems to fall apart. In the midst of tragedy, it is up to Scott to save their relationship, and pray that he doesn’t lose Mitch along the way.





	1. Part One: Illusions

**Author's Note:**

> Part One: Illusions
> 
> il·lu·sion  
> noun
> 
> a thing that is or is likely to be wrongly perceived or interpreted by the senses
> 
> a deceptive appearance or impression
> 
> a false idea or belief

It was exactly 2:22 in the morning when it happened.

I was asleep, eyes peacefully closed, and of course, laying sprawled out like a starfish on my bed. 

I remember the time so well, because I can still feel that horrible, sinking feeling; that ‘stomach hitting the bottom of the floor’ feeling. I was supposed to wake up early that morning, because we had to be at the recording studio by eight. 

So of course, when I had heard that heart wrenching, bone chilling scream from the room just a few footsteps away, I was surprised to find that what I had heard was real, and not some distorted version of Drunk in Love, my current alarm. With blurred vision, I peered at my phone, the light making my eyes burn and sting. 2:22 AM. Just three numbers, and two letters, but it’ll forever be ingrained in my mind.

Now fully awake from the light that had scorched my sleep deprived eyes, I managed to stumble out of bed, swing the door open until it hit the wall, and trudge as fast as my body, heavy with sleep, could. 

There was a light in the room next to me. Soft moans of pain came through the door, accompanied by sobs, and the eventual cry for help. I opened the door as quickly as I could, still disoriented and unsure if this was all some dream, or actually reality. 

Mitch was curled up on his bed, clutching his sides, head bent over with obvious pain. Sweat trickled down his bare back, and tears ran off of his nose onto the sheets below. Despite the state he was in, he managed to sit up enough so that he was facing me, his chocolate eyes dull with pain, tears flowing down his cheeks like waterfalls. 

I practically leapt onto the bed, almost toppling him over in the process. As if by instinct, I held him like a baby, rubbing gentle circles up and down his back, which left my hand moist with his sweat. 

“Hey, Mitchy, are you okay?” Was all I could manage, exhaust still making my words slightly slurred.

“Scotty....” he whispered through pained breaths. “It hurts...”

“What hurts, baby?” I asked, worried.

“My whole body,” he replied. “It’s excruciating, please Scott, make it stop!” His hands were shaking, but he managed to take them in mine, and squeeze them softly. And then he looked me in the eyes again, and this time I understood. It was as if I had been jolted awake, all my senses rushed back to me, much like becoming suddenly sober after drinking. His eyes told me everything. 

You can tell many things by Mitch’s eyes. I guess it’s just a thing with brown eyed people. Or maybe it’s just a Mitch thing. It’s funny really, how fans will come up to us and tell us things like, “I can always tell what year a picture is from based off of Mitch’s hair,” or they’ll say his clothing style, or even his weight, some variation of the sentence. 

Of course I nod and act like I’m surprised, but these people really don’t know anything at all about Mitch. They act like they do, but how could they? They haven’t learned how to read his eyes like I have. 

His eyes are the most beautiful feature about him. They give off every emotion and seem to change shade and tone depending on his mood. When he smiles they shine, and turn almost a golden brown color, especially in the sunlight. When he cries they turn almost a pale brown, a cloudy color, like muddied water, as if the iris is melting into his tears. And on nights like these, when he screams for me from the other room, whether because of an unexpected anxiety attack, or some nightmare, I’ll hold him gently, and stare into his eyes which are so dark in the moonlight that they’re almost black.

But on that night they were unlike any time before. Yes, they were a dark deep brown, basically black, and they were glossy with tears, but there was so much pain in those beautiful eyes, and they were telling me that whatever was happening was serious. Whatever Mitch was going through could not be fixed with a simple hug, or a deep conversation about how much he meant to me and that I would always be there for him.

And so I asked with a shaky voice, this time due to fear and not sleep, “Do you need me to take you to the doctor?”

He shook his head slowly, clutching my forearms tightly, as if letting go of them would kill him. His voice was quiet and breathy, as if it pained him to speak. “Please, Scotty....” he began, trembling. “Just sleep with me...stay with me, don’t leave me...I’ll be fine in the morning...we can see a doctor then...”

After a few heartbeats, the room fell silent, with the exception of the sound of Mitch’s constricted breathing. I crawled into bed carefully next to him, pulling the sheets over us, and holding him so that his face was buried into my chest. He hiccuped through the tears and clutched onto the back of my shirt tightly. I knew by morning, the front of it would be soaked. 

He eventually fell asleep, as did I. Fell asleep to the rhythm of one another’s breathing. One shallow and quick, the other even and steady. I prayed silently to whatever deity was up there that he would be fine in the morning.

———————————————————

Mitch wasn’t fine in the morning.

Because he woke up screaming again only two hours later.

This time the clock read 4:44 AM.

I immediately reached out to hold him, but his screams grew only louder when I touched him, and the tears began to flow faster and faster down his cheeks. I flicked on the lights, and for the first time I saw just how bad he looked.

He was so pale that his skin seemed to blend in with the off white sheets he had draped over his legs. And God, he had become so thin, it made my stomach drop. When his sides heaved in for breath, I noticed the outline of his rib cage, and just how the rest of the bones in his beautiful perfect fragile body seemed to stick out, as if they were trying to push their way out of his frail body. All over his bare torso and forearms were oddly shaped and colored bruises. His eyes were black and dark with fear, and he was trembling more than he had earlier. 

“Scott, I feel like I’m dying,” he said, his eyes too scared to cry, fixed on me because he was in pain and I was trying not panic, but I was the only person here for him, and it was up to me to save him. 

And he felt like he was dying. But so did I, just in a more metaphorical sense of the word.

So I drew in a deep breath, closed my eyes, and reluctantly opened them again, hoping that what I had saw would go away. It was all a nightmare.

But the same pale figure with its dark and wild eyes still stared into me, its fingernails gripping into my hands, pleading, no, begging me with all its might to not let it die tonight.

I felt like I was about to throw up. But I ignored my own pain, because whatever Mitch felt was probably a million times worse. 

I gently let go of his hands and picked up my phone, because I personally couldn’t do anything, but I was pretty sure calling 911 would do something.

As I waited for someone to pick up the phone, I whispered in a shaky voice, “it’s okay Mitchy, you’re okay, someone’s gonna come and help you, alright?”

There was no response, but I didn’t have time to think about that, as a woman’s muffled voice answered, “Hello. What’s your emergency?”

“Please, something is wrong with my friend. He says he feels like he’s dying... please, he’s in pain...and I don’t know why,” I could hardly choke out the last sentence as tears of exhaust, frustration, anxiety and sadness leaked from my eyes unexpectedly.

“Please, come help him...like get an ambulance over here or something? As quick as possible?” I bit my tongue so that the operator couldn’t hear my muffled sobs.

“Of course sir. Can you give us your name and address?” The woman deadpanned. I figured she had gotten used to hearing all about the suffering of people she’d never see face to face, or hear what happened to. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and responded with my address.

“My name is Scott Hoying...”

I glanced over at Mitch. 

He was asleep again. Okay. 

“Okay, an ambulance will be over in a few minutes. I hope everything goes well.”

Even though my brain felt like mush, I reached over, placing my hand on Mitch’s cold body. 

I drew it back almost immediately, my heart beating out of its chest, feeling like everything was crashing around me.

He wasn’t asleep. 

“Oh my God, he is dying...”

———————————————————

I sat alone on a cold chair in the waiting room, my body bent over with fatigue, hands clasped together tightly. 

I had avoided calling the rest of the band. I had avoided calling Mitch’s parents. But why should I? I didn’t even know what was wrong with him. So what in the world could I tell them besides unnecessarily worry them to death?

The ambulance ride had been painful. The large red and white truck, it’s sirens blaring, had pulled up to our apartment building, strange men rushing in and out of our room, as I let them in. I felt as if I was in a trance, like I was there, but really wasn’t. Like I could see people, but they couldn’t see me. Like a ghost. So this ghost that I became watched with sad blue eyes as these unknown people grabbed Mitch, poked him in strange places with sharp objects that I assumed were needles with medicine, picking him up as if he was no more than a feather, loading him onto a stretcher and soon after into the ambulance. And I followed silently, deliberately. They wouldn’t let me see him. Even as they rushed him into a hospital room for examination, they had pushed me into the small waiting room that I was to sit patiently in for the next few hours. Awaiting the news of my best friend’s possible death. 

Don’t think like that, I reminded myself. He’s not going to die. 

I sat tiredly, but didn’t dare let the tears fall. I’d save those for whatever bad news I was to hear when daylight approached. 

With a sigh I pulled out my phone and dialed Kirstie’s number. I figured I would tell her, I assumed she’d want to be here with me. 

Surprisingly enough, she answered. “Scott you better have an amazing excuse for calling me at five thirty in the morning.” Her voice was angry and thick with fatigue.

“It’s Mitch.”

Silence. She was processing my vague response. She clicked her tongue. “Okay. What about him?” Her voice was cautious and worried. 

“Do you want me to tell you all the details now? Or do you want to come to the hospital and let me tell you everything in person?”

She was silent. “Why are you at the hospital? Where is Mitch?” Her voice was panicked right now, and I imagined her jolting out of bed immediately, grabbing her keys and a pair of heels and heading towards her car to leave. 

“He’s with me. But he’s in the hospital. Something’s wrong with him.”

“I’ll be there in five,” she replied with quiet strength. 

She hung up. 

———————————————————

Kirstie’s expression was confusing. Unlike Mitch, I couldn’t read her eyes, unless she really wanted people to see her emotions. She certainly was a strong woman though, and she made sure everyone saw as she marched trough the corridors of the hospital, wearing a stained crop top, pink flannel pants and four inch heels. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, wisps flying into her face which was adorned by her square framed glasses and face pale without makeup.

“Scott you better tell me what the hell is going on,” she ordered, sitting down next to me, her hands balled into fists. She was biting her lip, and her eyebrows were creased in a worried expression, trying to keep herself collected, trying not to burst into tears. In fact, I figured she had been crying, as her eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were puffy.

“Even I’m not completely sure,” I responded honestly. “But I’ll tell you what I know for now.”

I sat and faced her, clasping her hand in mine, knowing we would need one another’s support if we were to make it through the night. I knew that by the time I finished my story, we would both be embracing, trying to stop one another’s tears.

“It was exactly 2:22 in the morning when it happened.

I was asleep, eyes peacefully closed, and of course, laying sprawled out like a starfish on my bed. 

I remember the time so well, because I can still feel that horrible, sinking feeling; that ‘stomach hitting the bottom of the floor’ feeling. I was supposed to wake up early that morning, because we had to be at the recording studio by eight. 

So of course, when I had heard that heart wrenching, bone chilling scream from the room just a few footsteps away, I was surprised to find that what I had heard was real, and not some distorted version of Drunk in Love, my current alarm. With blurred vision, I peered at my phone, the light making my eyes burn and sting. 2:22 AM. Just three numbers, and two letters, but it’ll forever be ingrained in my mind...”

———————————————————

“So now here we are, awaiting the news of our best friend’s possible death,” I stated bluntly, wiping the tears from my eyes.

“Don’t say that!” Kirstie scolded, smacking my hand gently, but then entwined her fingers in mine, giving my hand a tight squeeze of reassurance. “He’s gonna be alright. Mitch has been through a lot these past few years and he’s still alive. He’s a fighter. I know, hell, you of all people should definitely know, that he doesn’t give up that easily.”

I cleared my throat. “You didn’t see him Kirstie. He looked like a corpse.”

Kirstie’s eyes flickered to the floor as she furiously blinked back tears. “Gosh..I just don’t understand how something like this could happen so quickly...”

“We should call his parents. And Avi and Kevin. Maybe Esther too,” I said, cutting off her train of thought. 

She nodded solemnly. We both knew we had to do it. It wasn’t pretty. It certainly wasn’t fun. But it was something that had to be done. At this point, neither of us had any clue what was happening to Mitch, and if he would even make it through the rest of the day. So Kirstie and I sat in the small and uncomfortable waiting room chairs, tapping our toes impatiently on the tile floor as I waited for Mitch’s parents to pick up, and Kirstie waited for Avi, Esther and Kevin to pick up.

I felt like the grim reaper. I didn’t want to tell Mr. and Mrs. Grassi that Mitch was in the hospital. I didn’t want to tell them that their only son had whispered to me with a shaky breath that he felt like he was dying. I didn’t want to tell them that their youngest child was undergoing some medical tests, while I sat here, useless and numb, unsure of what exactly was wrong with him.

The phone clicked on the other end. “Hello? Scott?” Came the soft voice of Mike Grassi.

I hadn’t even spoken a word yet, but I knew that the moment I did, I would burst into tears again. So I tried my best to swallow the lump of sadness and pain in my throat, and tried to speak in my clearest, bravest, and most hopeful tone. 

“Well, uh, Mr. Grassi, it’s about your son. Mitch. He’s in the hospital right now. We don’t know what’s wrong with him, but from the looks of it, it might be something serious.”

The period of silence was the hardest to get through. I imagined the Grassis gathered around the phone, backing away in horror when they heard the news, their hands covering their mouths with shock, as they rushed over to embrace one another, crying in each other’s arms. 

“How did this happen?” I wasn’t sure who exactly asked the question. A person’s voice sounds a lot different when it has overtones of sadness. 

“I awoke to him screaming this morning. He was in a lot of pain, but I don’t think he knew why, and I definitely didn’t know either. We slept together for a while, and I was hoping that he would be okay in a few hours, but he just woke up screaming again. That time I called an ambulance.”

“He’s gonna live, right?” Nel Grassi’s voice asked. Her voice was strong, not wavering with fear until the last word. Right. A challenge. She was daring me to say no. Dare you to tell me my son will die, and I will prove to you when he’s alive and well in a few days that you were wrong.

I worried my lips between my teeth. “I hope he’ll be okay. The doctors haven’t told me anything yet...”

At that moment, a tall and thin man with too many bags under his eyes, and too many grey hairs for his age, marched through the hallway, his white coat billowing behind him, until he stopped in front of me, adjusting his glasses and tapping his pen on his clipboard. 

“Mr. Hoying?” He asked, his voice hoarse. 

“I have to go, Mrs. Grassi,” I told her softly. “I’ll give you more details later.” I hung up the phone.

My attention returned back to the doctor man, as did Kirstie’s. 

“We’re here to tell you about Mr. Grassi and his, uh, current condition,” the man said, shuffling his feet, as if nervous. 

“Is he okay?” Kirstie blurted, and I could see the anxiety radiating off of her.

The doctor adjusted his glasses again. “We have some things to discuss. Mr. Hoying how long have you known about Mitchell Grassi’s cancer?”

———————————————————

“His what?”

My mouth dropped open. Kirstie gasped loudly, her hands flying to cover her mouth.

The doctor, who I noticed by the tag on his coat, was Dr. Berkley, looked puzzled. “You don’t know? You and Mitchell do live together, correct?”

My mouth felt very dry. I felt like I was going to throw up. “Yes..”

“Mitchell was unconscious when he arrived here. We gave him fluids, and monitored his heart beat, waiting for him to become conscious again....”

My head felt like it was swimming, no, drowning, in this sudden information. The doctor began spewing off some medical terms that meant absolutely nothing to me.

“...he’s awake and conscious now, but I still don’t understand how he, if he was in this condition, could’ve gone this long without seeing a doctor about it.”

“Well, he obviously didn’t know why he was in pain, and we’ve been busy planning tour and working on our new album-“

“Mr. Hoying,” the doctor said with a sympathetic smile. “Please don’t interrupt me.”

I hated the man in that instant, but I bit my tongue. Why was I defending Mitch? Shouldn’t I be upset with him for not trying to go to the doctor earlier?

Dr. Berkley cleared his throat and continued. “A few hours ago, Mitchell was well enough to talk to us. He informed us that he has been feeling symptoms such as aching, loss of color in the skin, rapid weight loss, and various random bruising along his torso, arms and legs, for about a year now. He also told us that he went to the doctor a few months ago, back in October, and was told he had cancer. He said that he didn’t feel too bad at the moment, and he didn’t want to hold your, umm, acapella group, back, so he held off treatment, and that’s when things got worse. His cancer was mild, but since it has been left untreated for so long, it has become aggressive.”

Kirstie’s eyes were wide with fear. “What type of cancer does he have?”

The doctor let out a breath that I assumed he had been holding while Kirstie spoke. She was in a scary mood right now, and even I was unsure of what could escape her mouth when she was feeling this emotionally distressed. 

“He has stage three leukemia. We predict that a few months back, it was in stage two, but because of the lack of treatment and attention, it’s gotten aggressive and serious.”

I swallowed thickly, my heart beating so hard, my chest felt like it was burning. I didn’t know a lot about cancer, and I was trying to process this information as quickly as possible, and analyze what exactly this all meant. I knew cancer was the overgrowth of cells in the body, I mean I had to have learned something from biology. I wasn’t sure exactly what leukemia was, in terms of how and where it affected the body, but I knew stage three wasn’t good. Of course it could be cured, I believed, but if the cancer hit stage four, the chances of survival were slim.

“Is he gonna live?” Kirstie asked, her voice shaky, trying not to burst into tears in front of the doctor. 

“He’ll live,” Dr. Berkley stated unemotionally. I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. “But I think it’s best that he stay at the hospital for the rest of the day. We want to run a few more tests, because if you want him alive and well for at least five more years, we have to figure out how we’re going to treat this. Best case scenario, he goes back home tonight. Worst case scenario, he stays here another night. But the worst case scenario can really only happen if his symptoms get extremely painful again.”

I nodded slowly, finally coming to terms with everything. And then it hit me. Mitch had cancer. Mitch had stage three cancer. Mitch could easily be dead and gone in the next month, year, two years, whatever. The thought of a life without Mitch terrified me and I couldn’t take it anymore.

I burst into tears, gross baby sobs. I buried my face into my hands and cried fast waterfall tears. I bit my lip, trying to stop myself, but that did absolutely nothing. 

People say grief has five stages. It was as if I had been in the state of denial these past few hours, but at that exact moment reality had hit me. And it hit hard and painfully. I would have to accept the truth.

“I’m sorry Mr. Hoying, I know this must be hard for you to handle,” Dr. Berkley said with not a trace of sympathy in his voice as he patted me gently, but drew his hand back quickly, as if he had touched some creature with a contagious disease. “I hope everything works out. Good luck to you and Mr. Grassi,” he said solemnly as he turned around and marched down the empty hallways.

Yeah. I definitely hated Dr. Berkley.

———————————————————

Avi and Kevin got to the hospital at around noon. 

Even though Kirstie and I had skipped rehearsal, the two men had been in the studio at the time they were called about Mitch’s illness. They had kept recording for a few more hours, but said it just hadn’t felt right knowing what had happened at the hospital last night. But then they had gotten us Chinese food. These guys just continue to amaze me everyday. 

“Oh my god you guys are literal saints,” I said as I gladly took the bowl of orange chicken from Kevin. I hadn’t eaten in what seemed like lifetimes.

“Yeah, thanks so much guys. I look like a mess. There’s no way we could’ve gone out on our own for food, looking like this,” Kirstie chuckled softly in between bites of Chow Mein.

Kevin sat down next to her with a sigh and shook his head. “Kirstie, you always look beautiful,” he said with a smile. She blushed and giggled, too flattered to protest.

I leaned back and stretched. It was nearly impossible to get comfortable in the tiny, plastic waiting room chairs. I noticed Avi leaning back to sit next to me. “Or they would’ve given us hospital food. Now that would be disgusting,” I said, finishing off the chicken. 

The room grew suddenly silent around me. An awkward silence. A sad, lingering silence. I felt guilt grow in my stomach. Here I was complaining about the possibility of the food being disgusting, when Mitch was confined to an uncomfortable hospital bed, and was forced to eat only that food for today.

Kevin sat up and gathered a bag which was filled with an order of egg rolls. “Well, I’m not sure if they’ll let him have this, but I figured we could bring Mitch some of this food when we visit him?” He suggested with a smile. 

I looked the larger man in the eyes and smiled warmly. “Yeah, Kev. That’s awesome. He’d love that,” my voice trailed off at the end, the bright white tiled floor suddenly becoming very blurry as tears obscured my vision. I felt my shoulder shake, and I placed my hand over my eye, trying my best to wipe away the tears. It must’ve looked like I was laughing, crying silently like this. 

I felt a gentle and sturdy hand on my back. The hand began to move in slow, soft circles. I took in deep breaths of air, wiping my eyes and sitting up to face the hand’s owner, which was unmistakably, Kevin.

“He’s gonna be alright Scott,” Avi said in his gentle voice, which was a bit higher of pitch than his normal voice. It soothed me and I smiled, despite my wet cheeks. “We’re going to save him. We’re going to pay for his treatment, and in a few months, everything will go back to normal.” 

I turned to my left, where Kirstie sat. She smiled through tears as well and squeezed my hand gently. “It’s true.” Her voice was hoarse.

They were right. We were a family. And we would get through this together. And we would fight tooth and nail if we had to to save Mitch. And we wouldn’t give up until he was cured, until he was healthy, until he was safe and sound. 

———————————————————

“Here he is,” stated the nurse. Her voice sounded nervous. “You have an hour with him.” She walked away briskly, her brunette curls bouncing around her round face.

And so the five, yes five, Esther had decided to stop by as well, of us stood outside the doorway of Mitch’s hospital room. Of course we weren’t alone, there was another nurse, one with short blonde hair standing in the corner, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone as she observed the visitation nonchalantly. I swallowed thickly and took a step forward toward Mitch, where he lay, looking rather small and pale in the white sheets of the hospital bed.

“Hey Mitchy,” I said shyly. I made sure to move carefully, as not to knock over any machinery near his bedside table. All of it looked very complicated and very important. Of course he had one of those IV fluid rack things which had a tube which was attached to his arm, and there was some tv monitor thing that I believed monitored his heart rate, or maybe blood pressure. I was sure Kevin could maybe explain everything to me later.

We all kind of clustered around the bed slowly and carefully. Avi cleared his throat, but I wasn’t sure if it was to get Mitch’s attention, or because he actually had to clear his throat. Mitch’s tired chocolate eyes swiveled upward to meet mine. I almost burst into tears again. I had lost track of how much I had cried in the past twenty four hours.

“‘Ey Scotty,” Mitch mumbled quietly. His voice was scratchy from lack of usage. 

“Are you okay?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. I wanted to hold his hand, God I wanted to fucking kiss the man, but I hesitated. 

Because Mitch didn’t look okay at all. I mean, he didn’t look much different from the night before, but I’m sure to everyone else in the room his condition was sort of a shock. He was extremely pale, which worried me deeply because Mitch comes from an Italian family, and his skin is supposed to be an olive color instead of porcelain. His eyes were only half opened and he looked extremely exhausted. I figured whatever drugs they had him on were really doing their job, because he smiled sheepishly and didn’t seem to look at all in any pain at the moment. His hair was a mess, and I tried my best not to brush back into its proper place. 

Mitch blinked, as if still trying to process where he was. “Yeah. I feel all tingly, and I’m so fucking tired, but I think I’m okay.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “That’s good.” I entwined my fingers in his, squeezing his hand softly.

“We brought you food,” Kevin piped up. He grinned widely and handed Mitch the bag of hopefully still warm egg rolls. Mitch reached for the bag quickly, sitting up with a jolt. He winced a little, and I noticed the nurse shoot us a glare from the corner. 

“Hey, Mitchy, be careful,” Kirstie laughed as the blond boy shoved the egg rolls into his mouth.

“Well someone must be hungry,” Avi teased playfully. 

Mitch glared at Avi as he bit into his third roll. He laughed despite himself, in between bites of food. My heart warmed at the sight of Mitch smiling. I swear, his smile could light up the darkest of places, could make the saddest of people overjoyed. He was just too adorable when he smiled. I blushed and looked down at the tile floor to keep from staring at him.

“Well we’re glad you’re feeling better,” Esther stated as she adjusted her glasses and absentmindedly stroked the back of her head. She tended to be kind of awkward when she was nervous or concerned. “But, uh, would you mind discussing some things with us?” 

Mitch wiped his mouth, handing Kevin the empty box of egg rolls. He sat up and frowned. “Uh, yeah I guess.”

I set my jaw and raised my head to meet his eyes, which flickered back and forth uneasily. “Yeah. Well maybe you could start by explaining to us why you didn’t tell me you had cancer. You knew about it for what, two months?” I said sternly. I tried to look angry, but I was honestly just so sad. Sad that Mitch hadn’t cared enough to tell me. Sad that Mitch would rather put his life on the line than his career. Sad that Mitch was willing to just leave me and everyone else without ever telling us why and how.

He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but he closed it again quickly. “Okay. Look, I... it’s just that... look I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I fucked up. I made a bad, horrible, mistake. And it may cost me my life. I didn’t think it was...that big enough of a deal at the time...and I was stressed and I didn’t want to put this burden on you Scott..” his voice became quicker and quieter and he choked out the last words, as streams of tears began to flow down his cheek. “I’m so sorry Scotty, I don’t...I don’t want to die, and I’m so scared. I’m so fucking scared...”

“Hey, Mitch, it’s okay,” I said sympathetically, moving closer towards his bed, holding his hand steadily. “We’re going to pay for everything. All of us. We’ll all pitch in. And you’ll get better.” 

He smiled sadly. His eyes were a dark, rich chocolate color, irises ringed with a hint of gold. I wasn’t sure about how much of what I said was true. I didn’t know if we could pay for everything because I didn’t know how expensive this treatment would be. I didn’t even know how long his treatment would take, or what type. Mitch seemed more like himself today though, and that gave me hope. He seemed fine, he looked sick, yes, but he didn’t look like he was in any pain. 

“They said I was okay to go home today,” Mitch said quietly, the silence shattering like glass. 

“That’s good,” Kirstie said. Avi nodded in agreement. 

The air seemed thick around me. Everyone was standing still, lost in their own thoughts, trying to process what was happening, why and how Mitch had done what he had did. 

“I think we should go now,” Esther said with a sigh. “I think you still need to rest.”

“I think you should go too,” Mitch said. He had an edge to his tone, he sounded bitter.

Everyone nodded and mumbled some words under their breath. I didn’t care about what they were saying. I wasn’t listening. 

“I’ll stay here,” I said firmly. They just shrugged and walked away, Kevin waved and Kirstie looked over with a teary eyed smile. 

“Mitchy?” I asked softly. He was hunched over, his palms buried into his face, shoulders shaking with tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Scott, please believe me. Please forgive me..” he sobbed. 

“Mitch..”

“Please tell me they won’t be mad at me for this? Tell me they don’t hate me because of this..”

I swallowed my own fear. “They definitely don’t hate you Mitch. But they will be...upset. I mean, I’m still worried and sad that you weren’t able to tell me about this. I mean, this is a big deal. You have cancer Mitch, and you didn’t think to tell me? Mitch, I’m your best friend...”

“I know, I know, I know,” Mitch stammered. “I just didn’t want to ruin your life. You were so happy, I was so happy before too, and I didn’t want to burden you with this bad news, and I wanted to deny it. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true...”

“But it is,” I stated solemnly. “And now all we can do is help you get better. But you have to let us help you, Mitchy.” I held his hand, kissing the tops of his knuckles. I sat down on a small stool near his bedside. “Now you should sleep,” I ordered with a smile. Mitch lay back down hesitantly. “And when you wake up I’ll be right here, waiting to take you home.”

I assumed Mitch would’ve said something, but he couldn’t because he had drifted off to sleep. His face was so pretty when he slept. It looked less sickly. His cheeks seemed rounder, less sunken in, and he seemed to have less bags under his eyes. I don’t know what came over me, but I leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently. His blond bangs, however the brown roots were starting to peek through, were brushed off of his face, but his forehead was still moist with sweat.

Or maybe it was just moist with my tears.

———————————————————

“And I believe we should all help pay for the treatment,” Esther stated as she and the other four Pentatonix members entered Mitch’s hospital room again, that stiff doctor man, Dr. Berkley, following them. “What he did was wrong, but I do want to help him. We can’t afford to lose him. I don’t think any of us could live without him.”

Dr. Berkley adjusted his glasses. “There are many ways to go about his treatment. And whichever treatment you would like to pay for, would have to start as early as next week-“

I stood up abruptly, cutting off Berkley. “I’m sorry, but what’s going on?” I asked.

He set his jaw, looking a little pissed. Did I care? No. “Well, Mr. Hoying, Mrs. Kaplan and I were discussing Mr. Grassi’s condition. We think he should start chemotherapy as early as next Monday.”

“But today is Saturday,” my voice trailed off.

“Yes, which means chemotherapy will have to start in two days.” Dr. Berkley sounded like he thought I was an idiot. I’ll assure you, I am not an idiot.

“And is that going to cure his cancer?” I asked.

“Hopefully,” Kirstie piped up, shrugging her shoulders. She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. She was probably really tired. So was I. 

“Alright. How much will everything cost?” I said, my voice loud, as if I was proud to announce to the world, that yes I would pay for this and save the most important person in the world from dying a painful death of a horrible disease. 

Avi shuffled his feet, and Kevin clicked his tongue. It’s what they do when they’re nervous. “It’s gonna cost a lot of money Scott,” Kevin said warily. 

“Does it look as if I care? No!” I don’t know why, but I started shouting. I was exhausted and every little thing was putting me on edge. “Mitch and his life, the life he should be happy to live, costs more than all the worthless money in this world!”

“It’ll cost thirty thousand dollars, Mr. Hoying,” Berkley stated unemotionally, silencing me. “And if that method doesn’t work, there are other options, but those will cost more money as well.” 

“Well then fine!” I yelled. “Isn’t he worth it? Every single penny?” I thrusted my arm towards Mitch’s small and frail looking figure, asleep in the hospital bed.

“Why are you yelling Scotty?” Asked a small voice from behind me.

Mitch. Everyone went awkwardly silent.

I was about to open my mouth to speak, but Avi spoke for me. That was probably a good thing. He was the most level headed out of all of us at the moment, aside from Dr. Berkley. But Dr. Berkley didn’t seem like he actually cared about Mitch, or any of us, so I was thankful I didn’t hear that stupid monotone voice of his. 

“Mitch, we’re discussing you’re cancer, and the possible methods for recovery,” Avi’s voice was gentle and soothing. “You’ll start chemotherapy on Monday.”

“Yes,” Dr. Berkley added. I rolled my eyes every time he spoke. “And every Monday after that you’ll have to come here. We’ll give you an injection of the drug, and monitor the cancer. This should last for nine weeks. If it doesn’t stop after that, then we’ll have to discuss alternative methods.”

“But hopefully that doesn’t happen,” Kirstie said smiling with pride, as if saying these words would prevent anything bad from happening.

Mitch looked around the room, his eyes studying all six of our faces. He looked worried, and sick and scared. His eyes were watery, as if he was about to start crying again, and his eyebrows were drawn into a crease. His face resembled that of a pouting child. I wanted to reach over and give him a hug. 

“But there is good news, Mitchell,” Dr. Berkley said with a smile. Even when the man smiled he looked upset about something. 

“What?” Almost everyone except Mitch asked simultaneously. 

“Mitchell can go home today,” Dr. Berkley said. “He should be fine for today and tomorrow.”

Everyone cheered and smiled, rushing over to Mitch’s bedside. Kirstie and Esther were both teary eyed and covered his bewildered face in soft kisses like concerned mothers. Kevin embraced him in a bear hug, holding him not too tightly, but tight enough to make sure that Mitch knew that he would never let him go. Avi patted Mitch’s greasy blonde fringe and grinned at him happily. I walked towards Mitch slowly and they all got up and out of my way, knowing that we would need our own space, Mitch and I.

I helped him off the bed, my hands around his elbows, keeping him steady. He was standing barefoot and only in the hospital gown, his skin glossy with sweat, makeup smeared, face ghostly pale, and fringe greasy and hanging loosely over his eyes, and yet he still managed to smile, eyes watering with joyful tears. 

We embraced. It was everything both of us needed us now. His hands clutched the back on my shirt, as if letting go would cause him to slip and fall to his death. He had been living a complete nightmare for the past twelve hours and the thought of going home was for sure the most comforting thing for him. In that moment, as we held each close, gently, but not too gently, tightly, but not too tightly, I made a pact to myself to listen. Listen to Mitch more from now on. Be more observant. Read those chocolate eyes that were telling me everything, and to act upon it when they told me something important. Listen to and protect the most precious life on this planet- Mitchell Coby Michael Grassi.

I kissed the top of his forehead softly, as we let go of one another, already missing the comforting beat of the other’s heart pounding in our ears.

“Ready to go home, Mitchy?” 

We were both so tired.

———————————————————

“I want you to shave my head.”

That was the first thing Mitch said to me when we got back to our apartment that night at around six.

“Why?” I asked. I was confused. Mitch had been silent the whole car ride home, his head resting on the dashboard, face buried into his arms. I had thought he was asleep, but occasionally I could hear silent sobs. 

“Because,” he began, looking ghostly in the dim apartment. “My hair is going to fall off anyway. Better shave it off instead of watching it leave me tragically.” His voice was bitter, his eyes dark.

“If that’s what you want Mitch, then I’ll do it for you,” I said with a smile. We took one another’s hand and I lead him to the bathroom.

As I helped him sit down on the closed toilet seat, yes he was still shaking a little from everything that had happened and everything that was about to happen, he immediately stood back up in protest. “Wait,” he said softly, rushing out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom.

“Mitch? Where are you going?” I called after him. As I exited the bathroom, he practically ran into me, holding our camera we used to film Superfruit. “What are you doing with the camera?” I asked, bewildered.

He ran back to the bathroom and grabbed the razor, then took my hand and led me to his bedroom. “Help me set up the camera,” he ordered calmly.

“Mitchy, what the hell are you doing?” I asked. I don’t know why, but I was very concerned.

“Just turn on the camera!” Mitch demanded, flustered. He then sighed. “Please.”

I obeyed and turned the camera on. I took a seat next to Mitch on his bed as he smiled at the camera. My gaze flickered over to his and I got the cue that I was to awkwardly smile as well.

“Hi guys, welcome to Superfruit the best show on the Internet!” Exclaimed Mitch in the most energetic, cheerful voice I had heard all day. “Today we’re going to be taking a little risk, doing something a little more daring, I’d say? Scott and I are going to shave my head bald.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mitch shot me a look that meant to not say anything at all, because I’d probably just end up saying something stupid. I decided that a simple nod would do.

Mitch began rambling on about how this was something he’d always wanted to do, about how he’d told people about this but they had all told him not to do it, and that he had listened sadly, that is until now. It was a moment of glory. But it was a complete lie. It was a dirty, dark secret masked with a veil of happiness and free will. But I could see it in his eyes. Mitch didn’t want to do this. He wasn’t happy. And he had no free will, he had no choice, really. He was going to end up bald one way or another, even though I could tell that he didn’t want this. 

“Scott,” he said, turning to me with a genuinely fake smile. He opened the palm of my hand, which was sweaty and cold, placing the razor in it. “Will you do the honors?”

He was laughing. I was silent. “I’ll try not to mess up too badly.” Bad joke.

And so I shaved Mitch’s head. Little tufts of his soft blonde hair fell to the carpet like acid raindrops. 

———————————————————

“Why did you have to do all that?” I asked, some unknown emotions boiling inside of me. “Why’d you have to put on that act? That show? Was it really all necessary?” I paused for a second to throw away the little blonde hairs into the trash can that I had picked up off the floor. “Why couldn’t you have just told the fans the truth?”

Mitch, who was sitting on the bed, trying to hastily edit the short video we had just recorded, on his Mac, shot me a dark look. “They don’t need to know the truth. I don’t want people, people who used to look up to me, who do look up to me, who admire me, to start to pitying me. I don’t want to be pitied. And I hate rumors. I don’t want those to spread either.”

I sat on the bed beside him. “Mitch,” I began, placing my hand on the small of his back sturdily, as if doing so would calm all of these emotions that I could tell were stirring inside of his beautiful head. 

“Scott,” Mitch said, his voice a soft whine, and his eyes tired. They told me to stop. They told me let him do this thing, to do just this one thing. He just wanted to pretend things were normal. Because everything was crashing down around him, his whole world was falling apart, and he just wanted to pretend things were okay. 

But he couldn’t live this lie forever. 

“Please just stop, Scott,” Mitch began with frustrated tears in his eyes, his slender hand rubbing the back of his bare head nervously. “I just want things to be okay...things to be normal, and I can’t make them normal, I can’t make things okay, but I can sure as hell pretend.”

And with that he got up off my bed, tucking the laptop under his arm, walked hastily towards his own room, slamming his door closed. I even heard the small click of the door locking.

My mouth was left hanging open, an unspoken sentence lingering on my tongue. 

He was locking me out.

Out of his room.

Out of his life.

At a time where I should be there beside him all the time, at a time where he should want me with him the most.

A time where I wanted him to need me.

But Mitch was stronger than that, and maybe, maybe he didn’t need me.

Maybe he had never needed me.

And maybe I had been holding him back.

I thought about what he had said earlier. In the hospital. “I didn’t want to burden you with this bad news, Scotty.”

Maybe this was all my fault. If I really was the reason he hadn’t told anyone, the reason he hadn’t gotten treatment yet, the reason he could die...

Oh God. 

I could forgive Mitch for not telling me. But I could never forgive myself for not noticing the problem sooner.

——————————————————— 

Mitch hadn’t talked to me for the whole entire day of Sunday. That was twenty four whole hours that the boy had spent in complete solitude. And frankly, the only one I had to blame was myself. I was too scared to confront Mitch. 

And now today was Monday. Which meant I would have to drive Mitch and his stubborn ass to the hospital for chemotherapy, which he would undoubtedly put up a fight to avoid, and then refuse to talk to me again afterward. 

Maybe I was being unsympathetic. Yes, I was frustrated with Mitch. Yes, I knew he was going through horrible things that I would much rather be dealing with myself than having him suffer through. Maybe I was being a jerk for being angry at him. But then again, he was being a jerk too. I, as well as five other of his amazing friends were paying for every little medical treatment he was about to undergo. And we all cared about him, more than he could ever realize. So maybe he was being a bit ungrateful.

So I stood outside his bedroom door, which was of course locked, holding a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. “Mitchy?” I called. “Can we talk, please?”

Silence. “Go away, Scott. I don’t wanna talk to people. I don’t wanna look at people.” His voice sounded muffled, as if he had a pillow over his head or something.

I sighed. “I have food. I cooked food for you Mitch,” I said gently, trying not to yell. “You know I don’t cook. I almost burned myself making this, so I’d really appreciate it if you could get up, unlock this door, take my food, eat it and thank me, and invite me inside your room so that we may talk like sensible adults.”

I heard the door unlocking. I bit my tongue. The Mitch that opened the door had dark circles under his eyes, was frowning deeply and was wearing nothing but an oversized, stained t-shirt. Hell, it was practically a dress on him, and I didn’t even know if he had underwear on under it. I blushed a bright red color. Why did my brain have to think up these thoughts?

“I’m only here for the food,” Mitch said, his voice raspy with misuse. “I don’t feel like talking to you.”

I forced a smile. “That’s fine. Maybe I don’t want to talk to you either.” I handed him the plate, which he took greedily, retreating to his bed. He glared at me, telling me not to join him. His eyes informed me that my place was by the door, in the corner.

“But we have to talk to each other, Mitch!” I exclaimed. “I’m doing everything I can to help you, and you’re being selfish and stubborn and so goddamn confusing! You know, there was a time in my life where I thought I knew exactly who you were. But I just can’t read you anymore, I can’t understand you anymore. Mitch, you used to be a fantasy, my beautiful fantasy, and now you’re just a mystery.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “People aren’t books Scott. I’m not your book. Besides, stop trying to make dumb metaphors especially since you don’t even like reading,” he said bitterly. “You shouldn’t try to read me. Maybe I don’t want to be understood. Sometimes, when you love something, you don’t have to always understand it. Think about Jesus. Or Björk. No one understands them, but millions of people love them and care about them. Including me. Well, I love Björk. And sometimes Jesus. Right now he’s making it awfully hard for me to love him by fucking up my life so much.” He took a bite of his sandwich, his eyes still fixated on mine. They were dark and intense and stormy and burning into my soul.

Despite all this, I couldn’t help but smile unintentionally. “Mitch, you know I love you no matter what. If I had it my way, I would be the one going into that hospital room for chemo today, and not you. You don’t deserve to go through this, but sometimes life decides to be a bitch and throw a bump in the road. And what do you do when that happens?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

After a while of hesitation, Mitch smirked. “You drive over that motherfucking bump in your Mercedes like the queen you are.”

I laughed. “Exactly. You’re gonna get into your metaphorical Mercedes, and you’re gonna kick this cancer’s ass. Because cancer is a bitch, but you’re a badder bitch.” 

“You’re right about that, daddy,” Mitch said, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his long, dark eyelashes batted at me. We were quiet for a solid minute after that.

He took the last bite of one half of his sandwich, and picked the other half up, handing it to me. “Hey, uh, thanks for making this for me. You’re always thinking of me, and I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for being an asshole. I just haven’t been feeling like myself lately, ya know?”

“I understand,” I said nodding.

“And I know this illness shouldn’t be an excuse for me to hurt you, so here, I’d like you to have the other half of my sandwich.”

I took it slowly. “Well, thank you, Mitch. I appreciate it.”

He smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, Scott.”

I bit into the crispy bread and gooey, cheesy inside, my taste buds practically dancing. I smiled widely. “Oh my god! This is actually good!” I exclaimed in between bites of that glorious sandwich. I didn’t cook, so the fact that this tasted great made me very proud of myself. 

Mitch laughed, and I laughed too. Mitch’s laugh was so hearty, so full of life, that I couldn’t help but get this warm feeling in my chest, which began to spread throughout my whole body, making smiling inevitable. I don’t know why, but I had this feeling, of just pure warmth and joy in that exact moment. And that warmth and joy made me do something incredibly stupid.

I leaned forward, and grabbed Mitch’s face between my hands, pressing my lips to his passionately. 

That was probably a mistake. But it was a beautiful mistake.

———————————————————

“I probably shouldn’t have kissed Mitch,” I told Kirstie as we sat side by side on those uncomfortable hospital chairs again. She had agreed to come with Mitch and I to his chemotherapy session.

Kirstie shook her head. “It definitely was a brash decision, I’ll say that. But I can’t tell you what I think about it, because would it really matter? It’s already happened, and you can’t go back and change what you did.”

I frowned. “Now that I think about it, I just don’t understand why I did it. I, I don’t even like him like that, I mean he’s my best friend Kirst, I couldn’t like him in that way.” My voice grew shaky as I tried to deny what I knew was true. I liked Mitch. In a romantic way. It was strange.

“Are you sure?” Kirstie asked suspiciously, her eyebrows raising. 

I groaned. “No, I’m not sure.” I buried my face in my palms, massaging my temples, which were starting to ache significantly. “But Mitch is going through enough right now, and I don’t need my feelings for him, anything other than friendship, adding another stress factor to his life.”

“Or if you go about this the right way, it could become something healthy, and a loving, positive relationship could benefit both of you,” she said almost wistfully. Then she smirked.

I shook my head, which caused her to roll her eyes and sigh in defeat. “Or I guess you could suppress and ignore your feelings until they eventually go away. Which isn’t healthy at all, but I’m not one to judge,” she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “Changing the subject now...what’s up with Mitch’s hair, or rather the lack of it?”

I couldn’t really hear what she was saying, because my head felt really cloudy, and my thoughts seemed too big to fit in my brain. I began to interrupt her, thinking out loud. “But when I kissed him he didn’t pull away, he leaned into to it softly and closed his eyes. Then we eventually did pull away, and I kind of just stared into his eyes, but for once, I couldn’t read them. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I didn’t know what he was feeling. And frankly, it scared me.”

Kirstie gave me a sideways glance and frowned. “You’re still going on about you and Mitch’s kiss?”

“Well I can’t stop thinking about what I did, and I can’t stop thinking about him,” I said, gritting my teeth. “And I don’t know how he feels because he keep his emotions bottled up until they break him, and it seems like he never wants to tell me how he feels anymore-“

Kirstie stopped my train of thought with a gentle hand on my leg, which had began to bounce up and down. “Hey Scotty, calm down. You’re getting worked up over nothing. Just tell Mitch how you feel, and I’m sure he’ll tell you how he feels. It’s that simple.”

It wasn’t that simple, but I stopped talking and instead I sighed. “Yeah,” Kirstie said softly. “Deep breaths, good job.”

I continued the ritual of breathing deeply, and closing my eyes, pretending I wasn’t in this blindingly white hospital, pretending my best friend wasn’t being treated for cancer. Maybe Mitch was right. Maybe it was better to pretend that everything was okay, even when it was the exact opposite. 

“All I want is for Mitch to be happy,” I eventually told her quietly. “His happiness comes before mine. If he wouldn’t be happy in a relationship with me, I won’t force him to be in one. That’s it.”

Kirstie’s smile was warm. “Scott, you big love-ball, you really are the sweetest human being on the planet, aren’t you?” She squeezed my shoulders playfully. “Whatever Mitch feels about you, he should know that he is extremely lucky to have you, of all people, looking after him.”

I smiled. Mitch was lucky to have me. I was lucky to have him. We were a matching pair, an unbreakable bond, a mutual relationship. We benefited each other. We complimented each other. We supported each other. And most importantly, we loved one another. I think we both knew in our hearts that if we weren’t destined to be in love here, now, that in some other world or some other time, we were in love. Weird, right?

“And....it’s 12:15,” Kirstie said, checking her phone to view the time. I nodded, standing up with a stretch. Mitch’s appointment was over, and we were now waiting for him and that stiff doctor to greet us in the corridors.

Kirstie and I got up and headed towards the middle of the hallway, as we saw two shadowy figures walking slowly toward us. It was of course, Mitch and Dr. Berkley. Dr. Berkley’s face was pinched into an ugly scowl, and he had a few stray hairs on his chin, the attempt of a sad beard. Mitch, looked like a train wreck. He was frowning deeply, and the circles under his eyes seemed a shade darker then earlier. His face was pale, but his cheeks flushed. There was a bandage wrapped around his right forearm, where I assumed they had injected the drug. He stumbled toward me, and buried his face in my chest, murmuring something incomprehensible. Not expecting the spontaneous intimate gesture, I cautiously wrapped my arms around his waist, so that he didn’t topple over. 

Berkley adjusted his glasses and made a face that I guessed was an attempt at smiling, but it looked more like he was gritting his teeth at me. “Ha ha,” he laughed nervously. Kirstie made a face of discomfort, as his laugh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “Yeah he’s gonna be kind of out of it for a while. Uh, Mr. Hoying, Ms. Maldonado, here is the financial information,” he said, handing us a pen and some papers. “Take this to the front desk and have a great day.” He walked away quickly, as if he was relieved to get away from us.

Mitch raised his head and blinked at me with tired and cloudy eyes. “Scotty, I don’t like the way this stuff makes me feel,” he mumbled. “Can we go to Chipotle now?”

I was about to open my mouth, but Kirstie interrupted. “How about you and Scott just go home and rest, you’ve had a long day, and I think the two of you have a lot to discuss.” She raised her eyebrows, telling me not to screw this up. 

“What do we need to discuss?” Mitch asked innocently.

So Mitch didn’t remember the kiss. Whatever drugs they had him on were scarily strong and I sure hoped they were killing more than just his short term memory. Or maybe he was just denying that it had ever happened, just like how I had overheard Kirstie asking him why he had shaved his head, and he had denied the truth, replying that it was just something he’d always felt like doing. Mitch needed to stop lying to us, and especially to himself. 

“Yeah,” I said hesitantly. “We have a lot to discuss, but we can do that once we get home.”

I didn’t care what Mitch was going to say once I confessed to him. Whether he wanted to remain friends or start something new, I would go along with what he wanted. I’d be his steady rock in a sea of uncertainty and torment. And whether that rock would start sleeping with him didn’t matter. I would always care for Mitch and I would always protect and love him. Until the day I died. 

Or rather, more appropriately, until the day he died.

———————————————————

The hospital was thirteen minutes away from our apartment. 

Thirteen minutes of a dark street, bright and blinding lights, and thirteen minutes to prepare for the biggest confession of my life: telling Mitch that I wanted to be his boyfriend.

Some would say I was an idiot. That I shouldn’t devote myself to a relationship with Mitch when his future was so uncertain. That I shouldn’t fall in love with someone I probably wouldn’t be able to spend my whole life with. Did I care? No. It would be a wonderful miracle, if Mitch did live through this, but if it did kill him, I’d want our last few years together to be spent as lovers. I wasn’t one to miss out on any opportunity given to me. 

The only problem was that I wasn’t sure yet if Mitch was willing to give me that opportunity. And I mean, I’d be fine if he wasn’t comfortable in a relationship with me, and I’d be fine staying nothing more than friends, if it made him happy. I gritted my teeth and swallowed a lump in my throat as thin lines of tears fell down my cheeks suddenly. Of course. I was crying again. 

I chose not to be surprised. It was hard. It was hard one minute talking to your best friend about whether he liked the new Beyoncé music video, and then the next minute asking him if his chemotherapy went okay, if he feels slightly normal, if he doesn’t feel like the deadly disease lurking inside of him isn’t about to rip his body apart painfully and slowly. So it was inevitable that I had cried more this week than I had in the past five years. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Mitch, the most talented, sweetest, beautiful human being on the planet, was suffering. It wasn’t fair that I had to sit here, driving in the dark, thinking about how long my best friend would have left to live, because a week ago, I wouldn’t even consider Mitch’s death happening in the next two years. It wasn’t fair that bad things always happened to the best people. It wasn’t fair because I didn’t have anyone to blame for this, because no one had caused it, and I couldn’t even tell Mitch everything was alright. Because I wasn’t sure if everything was alright. I didn’t know how much pain Mitch was in. That was for Mitch to tell me.

I remember one time, about three years ago, when Mitch came to me in the middle of the night after a bad breakup with a man he had been with for about two years. Like I mean really bad, the guy had been mistreating him for months, and when Mitch had finally stood up for himself, the guy had hit him. So Mitch had left. And he came to me. Mitch had told me everything that night. All the bad, all the ugly. He had confessed every little thing he had bottled up inside of him. He told me what his boyfriend had called him, done to him, made him think about himself, these horrible, unthinkable things. Mitch had sat, sobbing in my arms, reliving every painful detail of the past six months in that one night. And he did it because he trusted me. He trusted that I would take that information about all of his insecurities and abuse, and I would listen, and I would make everything better. I think I had made it better, as the next day Mitch officially broke up with that jackass and moved into my apartment, where he was safe and happy.

As I pulled into the driveway of our apartment, a thought came to my mind. I had to confess to Mitch. I had a secret. And it was my turn to trust that he would keep it, take into account what I had told him, and answer me honestly. 

“Mitch,” I said in a hushed whisper as I nudged him awake. “We’re home. Come on, wake up, there’s something I have to tell you once we get inside.”

A muffled groan. Mitch opened his eyes and sat up, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out of the car. I followed him, the two of us heading to the door.

As we walked quietly to the couch, I entwined my fingers in Mitch’s, a subtle, but loving gesture. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and I smiled genuinely at him, my eyes still red from crying earlier. 

“Sit down next to me Mitch,” I told him, and he shrugged and obeyed. Wyatt meowed and jumped into his lap, and so he immediately kissed the bald cat’s head and started cooing softly to him like a mother would to a baby.

Mitch looked up from Wyatt, who was sniffing his pink sweater diligently, probably wondering why his mommy seemed to smell more like strange chemicals than fancy perfume these days. He scratched the cat under his chin and met my eyes, his gaze piercing. “Scott, whatever you want to tell me, just say it.” His voice was tired. “Please. I remember what happened earlier today. If it has anything to do with the kiss-“

“How did it make you feel?” I asked bluntly, cutting him off.

“What?” Mitch was caught off guard.

“The kiss,” I said simply. “Did it mean anything to you?”

Mitch arched his eyebrows, which I have to admit, turned me on a little. “Did it mean anything to you, Scott? Or were you just desperate?”

I threw my hands up in disbelief. “Of course it meant something to me, Mitch!” I blinked and laughed in shock. “I couldn’t help it. I’m attracted to you. Like, I like you.”

Now it was Mitch’s turn to laugh. “You? Like me?” 

I swallowed thickly. “Yeah...is that really so hard to understand?”

Mitch’s laughed again, this time bitterly. “Yeah, it actually is. If you just wanted to fuck me, you should’ve done it before I got cancer.”

“Mitch I don’t want to fuck you, for God’s sake,” I said in exasperation. “Well I mean sex is fun and all and I’m definitely not opposed to it..okay, whatever I’m not phrasing this well at all.” I took a deep breath. “Mitch, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I want to be your boyfriend. There, I said it, that’s the truth. Now I want you to state your answer honestly. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy.”

Mitch was crying, and I almost thought it was out of happiness, but I saw a flicker of anger in his chocolatey eyes. “You just want to date me now because you feel bad for me. You know that since I have cancer no one else will want to date me.” 

I was appalled. My mouth hung open. “No! Mitch, I’ve always loved you! I’ve had a crush on you for years now, but I only just got the courage to tell you today! Can you just accept that this cancer does not define who you are, and it does not, nor will it ever change the way I think about you? You are not your illness. You are Mitch Grassi. And you are beautiful, and amazing, and so so so so incredibly strong. And you’re going to make it. Because I know you don’t give up. And I love you, I love you, Mitch. I love you, I love you, I love you. And I’ll say it as many times as I need to to get that in your bald little head.” 

Mitch’s tears began to flow faster now, and he placed a hand over his mouth. “You really want to be in a relationship with me? Even though you might...lose me...” His voice trailed off until I couldn’t hear it anymore.

I grabbed his hands gently and squeezed them tightly, then kissing the tops of his knuckles. “Mitch, in any relationship there is a chance someone could die. Even if you didn’t have this cancer, I could still lose you in other ways, but why would I waste time worrying about the future, a future I can’t control, when I could live happily in the present with you?”

Mitch closed his eyes, dark, long, eyelashes slick with tears. He smiled after a few seconds of silence. The room was very quiet. “I was scared when you kissed me. I was scared because I liked it. No, I loved it. But I was scared that you were just craving physical attention, and I had mistaken it for something real.” There was a heartbeat of silence. He did this thing where he narrowed his eyes, and his mouth curved upward in a smirk, and my heart skipped a beat. He leaned forward seductively and whispered in my ear. “It was exhilarating. And now that I know that it was serious, please, do it again.”

I turned bright red. “K-kiss...you? Again?”

“Yeah. That’s literally what I said.” He rolled his eyes sarcastically.

I laughed nervously. “Of course,” I said, my mouth becoming dry. I took a deep breath and sat up straight, so that I leaned over Mitch. I pushed him down onto the couch as gently as I could and leaned forward so that my nose touched his. Our lips brushed against one another tenderly and he took a deep breath. I closed my eyes. Blissful. Peaceful. Our lips met. The kiss was so sweet, it tasted like honey.

And suddenly we were making out passionately, kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss. The next one was always more beautiful than the previous. Mitch began to cry and I did too because we were both so young and so in love and so not ready to face the world and all the problems it was catapulting at us. 

But we’d have to face those problems eventually. 

Just not tonight.

Because tonight was about Mitch and I and what we wanted. We wanted to be normal. We wanted to be fine.

So tonight, we decided that everything was perfectly fine.

———————————————————


	2. Part Two: Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Numb
> 
> numb  
> adjective
> 
> deprived of the power of sensation
> 
> verb
> 
> to deprive of feeling or responsiveness
> 
>  
> 
> (Mitch’s perspective)

When I told Scott that yes, I would go on a date with him, I did not imagine this. 

I thought maybe we’d go out to a nice restaurant, there were plenty of those in LA, or maybe we’d stay in our apartment getting our asses drunk on expensive wines that made us feel rich as hell, and we may or may not make out intensely afterwards. Okay so actually the latter idea was just one of my strange fantasies, but Scott really did have his heart set on taking me somewhere nice, which I think was extremely sweet of him. 

We were about to leave at 6:03, when I got a notification from my calendar that I had to be at the hospital at 6:15. 

“Shit!” I shouted glaring at my phone screen, it’s glow catching my attention in the dimmed apartment.

“What is it?” Scott asked, cocking his head like a puppy. He stood behind me, peering down at my phone and pressing his body up against mine, his hand resting on my forearm, fingers lightly stroking my skin. A chill rippled up and down my spine. We had been dating for a month now, and still even the littlest touches sent me into a trance. 

“And I even had the time to paint my nails, but all for nothing,” I said with a sigh of regret. Scott gently placed my hand in his and inspected the blood-red nails. “It’s fine I guess, the color didn’t really match this outfit anyway,” I said and tore away from his touch.

I blinked back frustrated tears and grabbed my handbag, shoving my wallet, phone, and various medical documents into the black leather. 

“Mitchy? Babe? Are you okay?” Scott asked, his innocent face glazed with confusion. 

“No,” I said simply through gritted teeth. “I completely forgot that I had a doctor’s appointment booked tonight, and I am so sorry, because that means we’re gonna have to erase all dinner plans and leave now, and this stupid calendar is always chock-full of doctor’s appointments, that it’s impossible to keep track of-“

“Hey,” Scott said gently, cutting me off. “It’s okay, sweetheart. If we have to rearrange dinner and go tomorrow night, that’s fine with me. Obviously, your health comes first. You’re under a ton of stress, and I know you were looking forward to tonight, but I promise you, we’ll get our date. One night to ourselves.” He stood in front of me, his hands rubbing my shoulders. He bent down to give me a gentle kiss on the forehead. I smiled despite the tears clouding my vision. 

And so here we were, at Dr. Berkley’s office once again, when we should’ve been fine dining at a fancy restaurant, the crisp night air around us romantic and sweet. We would be holding hands and sipping wine, no problems, just the two of us, at peace and in love.

In this current scenario, Scott’s hand was still clasped into mine, but nothing about the stark white room, that seemed too large and too cold, was romantic at all. And not to mention, Dr. Berkley, was here. Me and Scott both could attest that he is not a warm and friendly man. To be honest, we’d discussed finding a new doctor, but for now I’d have to listen to his monotonous statements and grin and bear it. 

He didn’t bother to greet us, but rather handed me a thick pile of paperwork. “Mr. Grassi, as you know, you’ve been receiving treatment for your leukemia. It’s been nine weeks, so we must check your cancer again, and see how it’s done, if it has grown or stopped growing, since we started.”

“Wonderful,” I said bitterly, my teeth grinding together with hostility. “What do I have to do?”

Dr. Berkley led me, Scott tagging along with that adorable innocent confused look he always has on his face, to a table where I would be scanned. 

“This is a CT scan. It’ll take about two hours. Lie down, get comfy, and close your eyes or something,” the doctor said nonchalantly.

“Two hours?” I squeaked out in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t-“

Scott cut me off, which caught me by surprise. “It’s fine Dr. Berkley. If this will help him, then we can wait two hours.”

“Oh yes, it’s imperative we give him a scan. The cancer could’ve spread to his blood and other parts of his body from the bone marrow.” Dr. Berkley’s eyes became wide and intense when he said this. I felt like I was going to hurl.

I sighed and ran a hand over my head with anxiety. Scott walked over to me and kissed the top of my head. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispered. He could tell I was getting very nervous and upset. “It’s okay, I’ll be there with you.”

“What if it’s gotten worse?” I asked tentatively, my heart pounding loud in my own ears.

Scott didn’t say anything, but just held me close. He couldn’t singlehandedly solve my problems like I know he wished to, but he was listening to my worries, and comforting me, and that was enough for me. The way he held me close, tightly, letting me rest my head on his chest, one of his hands rubbing up and down my spine, the other stroking the back of my head. “We’re doing the best we can,” he said softly. “Trying is all we ever can do, Mitchy.”

We both heard a strange sound coming from the opposite end of the room. I turned abruptly, my eyebrows raising, my eyes a piercing glare. Dr. Berkley was near the giant machine I was supposed to be placed in, that would soon scan and x-ray me. He was clearing his throat and doing those annoying fake coughs to get our attention, as if us being in love was a distraction and a waste of his time. 

“Alright, Mr. Grassi, I’m ready for you,” he said with a weird grin. My stomach churned. “Now please take off any metal or jewelry you are wearing. I’m sure Scott can hold on to it for you.”

With one last squeeze of my hand, Scott collected my earrings and bracelet and sat down in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, as I lay on the bed, the machine above me, a dark hole that would soon swallow me, devour me.

My eyes gently closed, fighting back tears, and I took a deep breath, praying it wouldn’t be one of my last.

———————————————————

Two hours wasn’t so bad.

I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and let the dark and cold metal around me lull me into some sort of sleep. 

My breathing felt constricted though, and I felt my hands begin to shake. It was hard to sit and lay still while awaiting a test result that will determine how long you have to live. I wanted to scream. I felt like I was trapped. I finally was able to breath, but now I couldn’t stop. My body couldn’t get enough oxygen it seemed, and gulp after gulp after gulp of breath didn’t seem to help. I opened my eyes wide and let the tears I had been holding back stream down my face and I silently sobbed. 

I felt like I was being pushed underwater. I was drowning, deeper and deeper. I closed my eyes to make everything stop, but it seemed worse, so I opened my eyes, clenching my fists, bearing the pain.

I heard humming.

Everything stopped. It was beautiful.

Someone was softly singing.

“Baby I can see your halo... I know you won’t fade away...”

Oh my god.

Scott freaking Hoying was singing to me. I closed my eyes and smiled. I laughed with joy. Tears ran down my face and some unexplainable warmth spread throughout my body. 

He was right. He was always right. Nothing was okay when we were alone, but together everything seemed alright.

I didn’t know what feeling alright felt like anymore, but I think this thing I had with Scott, that would be alright. It would make me alright.

———————————————————

We were sitting there for ten minutes. My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. A gentle grip on my leg calmed my nerves, and my watery eyes flickered to Scott’s strong hand, steadying my anxiety. He leaned forward slowly and gave me a gentle kiss on my forehead. Warm tears trickled down my hollow cheeks like thin streams. 

A pair of shoes clicked on the cold tile. I heard a man making a tsk-tsk sound. The toe began to tap impatiently. Nervously.

“What’s wrong, doctor?” Scott asked, a little too casually. His blue eyes were intense, the darkest blue I’d ever seen them. I held my breath, and he clenched his hand into mine, fingers grasping around each other for dear life.

“A lot. A lot is wrong,” he said dryly. “The cancer has spread. It’s affected your blood, liver, and it’s heading towards your stomach next. This isn’t good, Mr. Grassi.”

It didn’t really hit me what he said at first, but Scotty stood up in a rage, his jaw set firmly with anger, one fist balled with frustration, the other still holding my hand. He looked like he was about to choke Berkley.

“What are you saying?” His teeth were grinding together, his whole being was radiating with aggression. I had never seen Scott so intense. It was actually quite terrifying. 

“What I’m saying is that Mitchell Grassi’s cancer has gotten worse. It’s officially reached stage four. If we don’t find a new treatment soon, it could kill him.”

Silence was grave. I could hear Scott’s breathing. In and out. In and out again. Deeper and deeper until everything was dark. 

I hated it. I hated it all.

How they talked about me as if I wasn’t there. How my life was being toyed with, left in the hands of a man and his team of other humans. Humans were stupid and they made mistakes.

And I would have to pay the price if they made any mistakes.

But that’s just how the world works I guess. No one is ever in control of their own destiny, really.

Everything went black around me, but not before my body fell against something very cold and hard. Then a strange warming sensation erupted near by forehead. Exhaustion spread over my body and I gently closed my eyes.

I hadn’t been sleeping much lately.

———————————————————

“Hey...”

“Mitchy?”

My eyes felt like they had been glued shut as I tried to force them open. As I did, everything was a blur, and my head began to ache significantly. Where the fuck was I? 

I sat up with a jolt, which only made me yell out in pain.

“Mitch!” Exclaimed a voice, who was undeniably Scott. His face was kind of blotchy and his eyes were really red and tired looking. “Are you okay?”

“Scotty, where the hell am I?” I asked, panicking a little. I heard beeping. To my right was a monitor, and I noticed that the line moving up and down in infrequent motions was my rapid and unsteady heartbeat. I sat up quickly, realizing that I was in a hospital gown and had an IV in my arm. I grimaced, in pain and disgust at my disheveled appearance. 

“Sweetheart, you need to calm down. It’s alright.”

“Why am I in the hospital?” I demanded, my chest heaving. I felt so exhausted. I wasn’t sure why. I’d been laying in this bed, if anything I should feel well rested.

“You’ve been asleep for three days straight. You fell and hit your head...pretty hard,” Scott blinked back tears and swallowed a lump in his throat. Good. He shouldn’t waste his tears on me. “You cracked your head, but it’s fine now. How are you feeling?”

With a sharp pain I remembered what Dr. Berkley had said earlier, the whole reason I had fallen in shock and ended up here in the first place. What I’m saying is that Mitchell Grassi’s cancer has gotten worse. It’s officially reached stage four. If we don’t find a new treatment soon, it could kill him. I sighed. “My head is a bit sore,” I said as I opened and closed my mouth, trying to find my voice as I choked back tears. “I mean, I don’t know what to tell you? How would you feel if you were told you’re body is slowly killing you, and you are probably going to die within the next year?” 

Scott winced, his hands drumming anxiously on the stool he was sitting on, hunched over. “You’re not gonna die Mitch.”

“This cancer- this disease- is inside my bones. And now it’s in my blood, heading toward my organs.” My eyes were wild, scared.

“There are plenty of people who have been treated by wonderful doctors and have survived cancer,” Scott whispered softly, trying to calm me down. He gave a sympathetic smile. No, I’m not sure I would call it that. It was more like one of pity. Everyone was giving me those these days and I couldn’t stand it. They looked at me like I was some wounded puppy. “You’re the strongest person I know-“

Another thing I hated. Lying. I cut him off immediately, my temperature rising. “Scott, I’m sick of you lying! I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m someone’s puppy who’s been kicked. Everyone says ‘oh it’ll be okay, just be strong,’ but then there you are, looking into my eyes like it’s the last time you’ll see me every time we kiss. What you say and what you do completely contradict each other, and it’s confusing and I’m not gonna buy it.”

Scott opened his mouth to speak, but I shut him down quickly.

“I’m not finished talking, Scott. There are thousands of people who have died from cancer. Countless lives that have turned into a statistic in a heartbeat. Who says I won’t be one of those numbers soon? I don’t want to hear that everything will be okay, because I know it won’t! Don’t pretend like it will! Don’t try to give me hope, because there is no hope,” my voice was raising in pitch and volume rapidly. “When I first found out about this...this...cancer, I pretended like everything was okay. And that’s not healthy. I can’t do that Scott, I can’t ‘be strong’, I can’t ‘hope that everything will turn out alright,’ I can’t even ‘pray that I’ll get better’, because this is the end. This is the last chapter. I feel like I’m dying. I AM dying. And no one is here to help me,” I whimpered out the last word, my body wracking with sobs, tears stinging my cheeks. 

I counted exactly six beats of silence before Scott gathered his thoughts and spoke. “This is not the end. This is only the beginning. Don’t you dare reject my help, because I have been doing everything I can to help you, but if you don’t want to appreciate any of it while you can, fine.” Scott said, standing up abruptly. His fists were balled and his eyes watery. “Just remember that I’m fighting for you. I may not be helping, but I’m trying my best. I’m not letting you give up on your own life.”

“I’m not giving up, Scott!” I shouted in protest, my voice rising in pitch from frustration. 

Scott shook his head. “Really,” he said sarcastically. “Because all this positivity I’m putting on is to make you feel better! I feel like I’m dying inside because you’re here and I can’t do anything about it! And I’m trying to make you feel better, but you’re being a stubborn ass and refusing to let me help! That’s what you always do, Mitch! You let people in and then you push them away. I’m sick of it.”

My head was thumping. I was fuming. He was in a rage. “Okay honey,” I said in my most satirical voice. “You think that you have it rough? You think you’re dying inside? Try having to sit helplessly and watch your entire life, which you thought was perfect, crumble into pieces, and those pieces are left in the hands of doctors, who could determine whether you live or die. Scotty, I have no control of what’s going to happen to me! There’s no way I can be positive with that fact hanging over my head!”

Scott gritted his teeth, his breathing deep and heavy. His tone was dangerous when he spoke. “Stop it Mitch. You’re not gonna die. You can’t. I won’t let you. I can’t have you leave me.”

All I did was stare him down through glazed, stormy eyes. “Well that’s not really in your control, now is it? Nope. But it’s not in mine either. And that’s the end of it.”

“If you give up, you’re hurting me way more than you’re hurting yourself. You don’t realize what you’re doing or saying, Mitch. Open your eyes and stop taking your life- or what you have left of it- for granted.” He walked off and shut the door behind him, leaving me to my wandering thoughts. 

It wasn’t that I wanted to give up on anything, it was that I was using all my energy just to stay alive til the next day, that there was no way I’d have enough energy to fight for the rest of my life.

———————————————————

They didn’t let me leave the hospital for the next few days. In this timespan Kirstie visited me frequently, bringing along Kevin or Avi and Esther depending on the day. They mostly fretted over my health and brought me lots of food, which I greatly appreciated. But I could see it in their eyes. They were terrified for me. Their irises were dark and wandering, always searching for something other to look at than my face.

Scott hadn’t come by since the day I woke up. At first I let my pride get the best of me, and I didn’t care that he had left my room. Now that it had been two days since, I guess I had upset him more than I thought. I had tried to ask Kirstie about him, but she just shook her head and held my hand, claiming that she didn’t know where Scott was. Yeah right. She’s a horrible liar. And I knew for a fact that Scott always has to tell people what’s wrong with him. He’s just emotional that way. And if he doesn’t tell me, then he tells Kirstie.

A gentle knock came at the door. A part of my heart leapt, hoping it would be Scott. All I wanted was to see his stupidly attractive face with his baby blue eyes and his scruffy short beard and his perfect silky blonde hair. And I hated how much I wanted him, because he just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how hard it was to cope with this, to live when you don’t want to, but you do at the same time because you might die any day. Life was strange and confusing, and he was trying to make it simple, and he was trying to solve a problem so much bigger than himself, but there was no simple solution, and there seemed to be no solution at all.

But rather than Scott, two even more familiar people walked through. One of them was a short and stocky bald man with a bushy mustache and watery dark eyes, the other a small, thin woman with caramel hair and a distraught expression on her lined face.

I jolted in surprise at the sight of my parents. I knew they would come to see me eventually, but I wasn’t expecting them to come at this moment. My mother rushed toward me her arms spread wide, sobbing uncontrollably. My father walked behind her, rubbing her back and letting silent tears flow down his face, even though I knew it pained him to let him lose his strength in front of me.

I couldn’t hold anything back any longer. I jumped out of bed, despite feeling extremely light headed and dizzy. Mom wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, like she was clinging on to me for dear life, and if she let go I would simply crumble into nothing and fade from existence. 

“Mom..” I sobbed out, as she planted kiss after kiss upon my clammy face. My dad stood nearby, his face filled with deep sorrow and happiness at the same time. Mom finally let go of me long enough for my dad to envelop me in a surprisingly gentle hug. 

“Oh my god...” my mom managed to breath out between her pained cries. “My baby...Mitchy....” She ran her hands over my bald head and my hollow cheeks, stroking and grasping at every bone that seemed to jut out more than it had before, as if trying to analyze just how much my body had changed since she had last seen me.

“Are you okay?” Dad asked quietly. He began rubbing my shoulders gently, which always eased my stress. I winced. I knew I looked like shit, but I just felt super exhausted, and not really in any pain at the moment.

I managed to gently push Mom away for a split second to wipe away my tears. “I’m okay... I’m alive... and I’m not really in any real pain right now...”

“That’s good, baby,” Mom said gently, taking a seat by my bed. “Why don’t you lay down and relax while we talk?” My dad nodded in agreement.

I wanted to protest, but it took so much energy to stand, and my legs were starting to feel wobbly and unsteady, so I climbed back into bed. I closed my eyes for a brief second, to blink away my tears. “Wow,” I said, voice shaking. “I knew you guys were coming to visit, but I didn’t know you would catch a plane this early.”

“Mitchy,” Dad began, squeezing my hand gently. “When we got the phone call from Scott, one of our worst nightmares had come true. We were terrified we would lose our precious boy. We were able to get a plane that flew in last night. Then when Scott told us that you were in the hospital again, we rushed over this morning to see you.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Scott? He saw you? Where is he?”

My dad looked puzzled. “He was standing outside your door. When we arrived, though, he left. I don’t know what he’s up to.”

That’s weird. What the hell was Scott doing? “Oh,” I said simply, acting like I knew Scott was here all along. “Okay. That makes sense.”

Mom kissed the top of my head. “Are you sure you’re in any pain? There were nurses outside if you need me to get you one.”

I shook my head, smiling, my heart warming at my mother’s caring nature. “Mom, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. I’m going home tomorrow anyway.” 

“Speaking of home,” my dad said, squeezing my hand gently. “How are you and Scott? I’m very glad you have someone to watch over you, since we can’t be there for you all the time. He’s so kind, a very great friend.”

“We’re fine,” I said slowly, delving into my own thoughts. Friend. That’s funny. We weren’t exactly official yet, and no one but me, Scott, and Kirstie knew about us. Also, we did a lot of things, especially in bed, that normal friends wouldn’t do. My thoughts wandered to our argument. How we weren’t paying attention to one another’s feelings. He was too earnest, I was too stubborn. He was too optimistic, I was too pessimistic. And we were both much too emotional right now. But all I wanted to do was talk to him. 

“Mitch?” Dad asked, his voice quiet with concern. “Are you okay?”

My eyebrows creased and my eyes crinkled. “Well, actually, we’re not fine,” I began. “We got into an argument over this whole situation, and I think I hurt him pretty bad. I didn’t mean to....I was just so upset....and everything is so confusing and everything is crashing down around me, and all he wants to do is help, but I’m too stubborn to have to rely on everyone for everything, and I question why he does all this...when he knows I’m a waste of his time. I’m not gonna be here...much longer...” Tears welled in the corners of my eyes, so I took a deep breath to fight them back. 

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” Dad said, his voice sad and unsteady. “But, Scott, Kirstie, the rest of your friends, your mom and I, all we want to do is help you. Let us help you, because it’ll make everyone happier in the end. It’s okay to feel upset. It’s okay to feel like there’s no hope. That’s normal. We all feel that way sometimes. Just know that whatever happens, we’re with you till the end. But please, Mitch, do have a little bit of hope. This hospital has a great team of doctors, and if you stay positive, if you decide that you’re going to fight, not give up, you’ll have a greater chance at getting better. Of living.”

I swallowed thickly, tears in my eyes. My dad was a quiet man, but when he did speak, he always said the most amazing things. “Wow...thank you Dad...”

Mom rubbed my arm, glancing over to my dad. “Mike, do you want to get lunch?” A nod was his reply. She turned towards me again. “Is Chipotle okay for lunch, Mitchy?”

I smiled warmly. “That would be perfect.”

We all stood and huddled together for a heartfelt hug, Mom’s arms wrapped around my head, Dad’s arms around both me and my mom’s waist.

I wish life could always be like this. Every single moment, golden.

———————————————————

It was currently 4:30, and I hadn’t been visited by anyone in a while, not Kirstie, and not Scott. Although, I wasn’t surprised by Scott’s absence. I tried to not let it get to my head. I guess we just needed space. 

My parents and I had our lunch. We spoke of idle things, small things, but things that made us happy. We were all just trying to shift the mood, to clear the skies, to distract ourselves while we still could. They left about an hour ago, and afterwards I fell right asleep, exhaustion washing over my body.

Now I was awake, but the only person to keep me company was my shadow on the pasty beige wall. I looked away hastily. The figure on the wall, sitting upright in the bed, was thin and bony, it’s head looking extremely large due to its bare surface, it’s fingers long and spindly. I know it wasn’t right to judge off of the elongated figure, but my shadow didn’t look at all human, more like an alien.

I looked down at my body. Unattractively pale. The pasty beige color of the wall. Unattractively thin. Arms almost identical to the the thin bars on the sides of the hospital bed. Little red dots ran up and down my arms as well, reminding me of the white and red polka-dot blanket draped across my waist.

I truly did look sick.

And for the first time I realized it. 

That terrified me.

Soon enough, people would start finding out what’s happened to me. What’s happened to Pentatonix. What’s happened to Superfruit.

I didn’t want them to know. I wasn’t ready to face this problem head on. I wanted to keep it my dirty little secret. I didn’t need hundreds of people wasting their energy worrying about me as well. 

All these thoughts started cascading through my brain, rushing like a waterfall, so much that I almost didn’t hear the soft knock at the door.

A tall figure appeared. 

Scott? 

“Mr. Grassi?” Came the voice, which belonged to a tall African American nurse. She had a gentle tone, which should of been comforting, but just filled me with disappointment. It wasn’t Scott.

I raised my head and nodded in reply. There was another slightly taller male figure behind her, but I had to crane my neck at a painful angle in order to see his face. He remained a shadow to me, but I knew him all the less. My heart began thumping loudly, and I could hear it rattling in my chest. Scott was finally here.

The nurse, her dark eyes concerned, her lips about to speak, was interrupted by my urgency to talk to Scott, to hear his voice, to see him, to touch him, to let him touch me. “Please, just let him in, it’s okay,” I said, smiling wide.

She stood there for a second, as if bewildered, but eventually nodded frantically, opening the door a hair more so that Scott could push past her and through the door. 

My heart leapt out of my chest. My hand flew to my face. My eyes were wide and I felt streaks of tears rush down my cheeks.

He was so beautiful. His eyes were ocean blue, his hair blonde. Tall and handsome and muscular. 

But oh god. He was not Scott. No where near it.

In fact, he was the one person that I prayed I would never see again.  
———————————————————

“Hey Mitch.” That was all he said. 

Travis. Tall, handsome, and muscular. Tan skin, perfect narrow jawline, face dusted with freckles like stardust, sapphire eyes, and dusty blonde hair. The man who I had given my heart too and trusted that he would keep it safe. The man who, the moment I gave it to him, smashed my heart into pieces and left me there, alone and lost, to pick up the pieces. 

There was no man who had ever loved me better than Travis. There was also no man who had never hurt me worse than Travis had. 

And I guess that’s why it pained me so much to see him here. Because we hadn’t spoken in three years, and yet he had tracked me down and found me, only to kick me when I was weak.

I was terrified to speak. I suppose that’s how it had always been with him. I shuddered as I remembered the ways he would lie and manipulate, shut me down, insult me without reason or care. He had always held all the power in our relationship.

So why had I stayed?

It’s simple, really. Fear. Manipulation. Every time he would hurt me I would believe that I had done something wrong. ‘I just have to try harder next time,’ I would tell myself. ‘One day I’ll be good enough.’ Of course once I realized he would never appreciate me, and that I never would meet his ridiculously high standards, I left him.

My voice came out scratchy and shaky. “....Wh-what are you doing here....like...how did you find out...about...this...about...me?” I managed to stammer.

His eyebrows raised and he laughed softly. “I heard the rumors, and thought I would take a chance and see if they were real,” he said casually. He was smirking, as if my anxiety and fear was fueling his confidence.

“Rumors?” I whispered. My voice couldn’t even work properly around him. It must’ve been shock.

He knelt by my bedside. “Yeah,” he began. “Everyone is worried about you. It’s been months since that video of you shaving your head, and people just started getting more and more concerned. Last week, someone leaked a photo of you in the hospital, and the whole fandom blew up. Rumors about cancer started circulating. Of course with you keeping the truth from those who deserve it, everyone’s been left to unnecessarily worry. Some people still aren’t sure what’s true and what’s fake, but I decided that if you are gonna die, might as well say goodbye to an old friend.” He smiled warmly. My stomach did somersaults. I wanted to puke.

We stared into each other’s eyes for a bit. His blue eyes were so clear and bright, I could see my reflection. Mine were cloudy and watery, a dark brown, almost black. This was just the calm before the storm. And this storm was a fucking hurricane. After my prolonged silence, he sighed. “Come on, Mitch, you’re disappointing me,” he said with a sad expression. He was such a horrible actor. “I came all the way out here to see you! Can’t we just put the past behind us, and just talk? It’s okay if all you want to do is boss me around, sass me, be a bitch, whatever, I’ll take that shit.. I just need to hear your voice again.” 

I gritted my teeth but kept silent. I wasn’t speaking. I was not wasting my energy on this jackass. The eye of the hurricane was my heart, which was pounding out of its chest at the moment. 

“I came here to say I’m sorry. To pay my respects. I understand our relationship was a tumultuous one, and I take full blame for it. I never meant to hurt you so much, but I’ve seen how much stronger you’ve become from all the pain I caused you. It leaves me with mixed emotions, honestly. I’m proud. I’m upset. I’m turned on, obviously. I know I hurt you. The truth is, I was just as insecure as I made you feel. I was a guy who had lived his whole life as a straight man so when I was dating another man, having to explain to my family that I was gay almost killed me. I should’ve told you all this sooner....I just...” His hand gently touched mine, his fingers worming their way in between mine. My skin crawled, and I shivered in disgust. “Hey, Mitchy, babe,” he said softly. “There’s one thing good about this cancer. You’ve never looked thinner. It’s so fucking hot.”

Oh no. Oh he did not just say that. I could hear sirens blaring in the back of my mind. The winds picked up to record speeds, rain pelted down upon the ground, whole entire houses were torn apart, and palm trees that towered in the sky fell like they weighed nothing. I clenched my jaw, and jammed my fingernails into his hand. It was at that moment that I snapped. It was truly a shame. I was actually starting to feel a little pitiful for him, and some twisted, prideful part of me enjoyed seeing him beg on his hands and knees for my forgiveness. He wasn’t so cold hearted. He was being vulnerable. But of course, like he always had, his bad qualities far outweighed his good, and that one statement triggered a whole year of self torture and horrible memories that I had tried to suppress. 

When we dated three years ago, I was a different person, inside and out. I was not nearly as confident, and I never thought I was good enough for a guy like Travis. Throughout our time together, Travis had always said some pretty offensive things, some of them meaningless, but most of them directed towards me, and more specifically, my weight. A first I let everything go, but sometimes I would stay up half the night crying because of some statement he had said, something he would claim to be ‘just a joke.’ Of course it got hard after a while to be fat shamed by your own boyfriend, and in a desperate attempt to change myself for him, I tried starving myself for several months. My mind wasn’t at a good place back then, and I didn’t even feel safe with the person I was supposed to trust the most. After we broke up, I stopped my unhealthy dietary trends, and went on a real diet, a healthy one. 

So of course when he told me that this cancer had made me beautiful, I was not in the least bit flattered. 

“Get out of my room,” my voice was low and dangerous. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Travis.” My eyes were daggers and I hoped right now it would sting him to look into them. I wanted this hurricane inside of me to take no mercy. To kill every last person standing. 

He pulled away, nursing his hand, which my fingernails, left jagged and untrimmed, had drawn blood from. 

“Mitch-“ He began, as the worried looking nurse got the cue, and rushed over, beckoning him to leave. “Please, I, let’s just talk this out, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said dryly. “I wasted a whole year of my life with you. I loved you more than anything, than anyone, and I trusted you with all of my heart. You gave me nothing in return. You made me feel so bad about myself and my body that I could barely look in the mirror without wanting to throw up. I starved myself for weeks and weeks before I realized I was ruining my life for someone who didn’t deserve to even know me. I spent months wishing I was dead because I knew I could never be enough for you, and I didn’t know why I wasn’t enough. My body eventually healed, but my mind is still a bit messy because of what you did. Maybe I wouldn’t be so upset if you came crawling back to me for my money, or to just keep me away from Scott, but you came back to me because you only care about my body. And you think this is healthy, and you think it’s attractive, and that’s just fucked up.” I held my chin up high. I had never felt more powerful. It felt good to take a stand, to speak up for what I knew was right. 

Travis glared at me, his ocean eyes turning ice blue. “You’ll regret saying that, you nasty little slut. I saw the way you looked at Scott in that video. I’ve seen pictures of the two of you kissing, getting real close and personal. He’s playing you. You may think I’m just one horrible person, but no one will ever love you, Mitch. Scott has left you. And I made the great decision of leaving you years ago. At least I tell my boyfriends what I don’t like about them. You don’t tell anyone anything, and then sulk about your problems silently, expecting your boy toys to come fix them for you, even though ‘surprise!’ they’re the reason you’re upset in the first place.” He began yelling at me, eyes wild, face red with rage. I didn’t even shudder. I was numb to whatever he said. Completely numb to the pain he was trying to cause me. 

The nurse’s eyes turned sharp. She hauled Travis to the door and ushered him out, sighing impatiently.

But no one will ever love you Mitch.

I frowned as he left the room, the storm quickly dying down. All that was left inside me was a sad, destroyed town, grey and broken.

I took a deep breath, hearing my heart pounding in my ears. I felt like I had just gotten off a rollercoaster. 

That’s how it had always felt with Travis. Everything came as a surprise. A jolting, stabbing, painful surprise. He was the most unpredictable person in the world.

I thought about what I had felt, what I had said. For those few minutes I had felt so powerful. It felt amazing to just hold my head up high and speak up for myself. It felt good to say exactly how I felt, to not hold back. 

It felt good to be strong. To face the truth head on, and to speak my exact feelings in front of another person.

And then it clicked.

And for the first time since forever I realized that maybe I could fight this. If I could fight Travis, the man who had emotionally tortured me for a year, I could fight cancer.

Maybe this was what everyone kept telling me about. Maybe this was what hope felt like.  
———————————————————

About fifteen seconds after Travis was forcefully hauled out of my room by the flustered nurse, the door was slammed open by none other than Scott Hoying.

His beautiful blue eyes, dark, not bright like Travis’, searched my face up and down and he raced to my bedside, gently cupping my face in his strong hands. 

“What the hell was he doing here?” He asked frantically. “Did he hurt you?”

I tried to squirm away from his touch. “Well hello to you too,” I said sarcastically. I was fine without him, stronger without him, but I just felt so comfortable and relaxed at his touch.

Scott didn’t break eye contact with me. “I won’t repeat myself again. Did he hurt you?”

I swallowed. The silence in the air felt thick and heavy. “He tried to....but....I stood my ground. And now he’s gone. It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter now.”

Scott smiled through tears that I noticed began trailing down his cheeks. His eyes were red and puffy and his whole face looked a bit swollen, like he hadn’t slept in days. 

For the longest moment time stood still. His hands were cupping my face, my hands were grasping his arms. Our eyes were locked, each of us drowning deeper and deeper into a sea of blue and brown. Our noses were brushed against one another and we could feel one another’s breath, warm on our cheeks.

“You waited for me,” I finally whispered.

Scott blinked, eyes flickering. “Of course I would.”

I inhaled sharply. “I thought I had finally fucked everything up...thought I had finally driven away the one person I love the most....”

Scott’s thumbs rubbed my cheeks, wiping tear after tear away. “I’ll never leave you,” he whispered softly.

“I’m sorry I can’t promise you the same thing,” my voice cracked at the end and I squeezed his hand for comfort. 

I felt Scott squeeze my hand back, as he sobbed quietly at my response. He sighed and opened his watery eyes. “Let’s just put this behind us. We’re going through a lot right now. But I think we both know what we need.”

“I need you,” I said immediately. “All I need is you, beside me. Please, just stay here. Just be here, Scotty, that’s all I need. It’s all I’ve ever needed. It’s you.” My pleas were desperate, and my eyes were wide and frantic, craving his lips on mine.

He smiled softly, little corners of his mouth curving upward ever so slightly. “Then I’ll stay with you. Forever. That’s a promise. But I need you to promise me that you won’t push me away. Please don’t reject my help anymore. We need each other. And, I need you here too.”

“Here’s my promise.” I pressed closer to him so that our lips were brushing, eyes softly closed. “I love you, Scott.”

And I did love him. So much.

Our lips slammed together. For such a gentle introduction, the main event was quite the ravenous spectacle. Our tongues, lips, bodies, everything was hungry, starving, for one another. 

“I love you too,” Scott breathed in between kisses. He was on top of me now, shirtless and heaving for air. The room felt sticky and humid, the lights were low and dim.

“Then you better show me,” I replied smugly. “Show me just how deep your love for me is, Scott.”

I could see his face turn red in the darkness. He didn’t hesitate though. 

We didn’t stop making love until the sun came up. The door was locked, the lights were off and the night was ours.  
———————————————————

I don’t know if you’ve ever had sex in a hospital bed before, but the next morning was the most uncomfortable I’ve ever felt. My back was stiff and it hurt to sit up, but I was grinning like an idiot, my insides feeling tingly and my heart pounding with sheer happiness.

“Wow,” Scott said as he tore the sheets off the bed, and tossed them into a basket for laundry. “That was intense.” His hair was a mess and his face was flustered, red and splotchy. 

I knew I looked just as bad, but I smiled as wide as I could and wrapped my arms around his neck. “You’re welcome,” I whispered seductively.

Scott gulped and I could feel his heart pounding as I tilted my head to rest against his chest. “Hey don’t you act like that was all you. I definitely heard you moan when we-“

We were interrupted and tore away from our embrace quickly when a nurse came in to take the sheets. She didn’t even question why the sheets were dirty, just smiled at us and left. As she shut the door my eyes met Scott’s again. I giggled and blushed. A little girl lost in love as she stared into the eyes of her crush. “What were you saying, Scotty?” I teased.

He shook his head absentmindedly, as he placed the pillows back against headboard. His lips perked up, smile sweet and beautiful. “Nothing. You know exactly what we did, I don’t think you need me to narrate it for you.”

“Well it’d be so damn hot if you could.” I smirked as I laid the other pillow on the bed. “Anyway,” I said with a sigh as I rubbed my tired eyes. “Hospital sex. Sex in a hospital bed. That was definitely something I never thought I would experience. Guess I can cross that off the bucket list.” 

I looked over at Scott who just kind of stood there with a blank expression for a split second, as if lost in thought. “A bucket list,” he repeated. “Oh my god, a bucket list,” he said with more emphasis the second time. “Mitchy, babe, you should make a real bucket list.”

I swallowed my nerves and shook my head. I had been trying to avoid speaking about my cancer, or impending death, but I guess I could never really escape reality, even for a couple minutes. “What do you mean Scott, how would I even make one, what would I do...”

He nodded in reply. “It’s fine, it’s okay. Mitchy, you just need to write down a list. Put as many things or activities that you’ve always wanted, or always wanted to do on that list, no matter how expensive. Then we’ll start doing all those things on the list, and it’ll be so much fun, and cost doesn’t matter, because I will spend every last dime, on this, to make you happy.”

“Scott....” I whispered, throat closing with emotion. “You don’t have to do something like that for me....I already have everything I need.....”

After straightening the blanket out on the bed, he picked me up like I was a feather, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, arms curling around his neck. “Just think about it, Mitch. Please. It’s just an idea.”

My heart was beating quickly at his sudden embrace. I smiled though, through tears, and I kissed the top of his head gently. “Thank you,” I whispered. 

Maybe I would make a bucket list. It was okay to want things in life, it was okay to run after your dreams. I realized that. I wasn’t being selfish. I was letting myself relax and enjoy life. And that was fine. 

“No,” Scott whispered back. “Thank you.”  
———————————————————

“A special concert, huh?” Kevin asked, a bit confused. He was rubbing the back of his neck, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Avi scratched his beard in worry, frown deepening. “A concert, even for one night, is a lot to plan. I’d have to ask Esther to schedule a last minute flight, and we’d have to book a venue. Even if we got all of that figured out, we’d still have to figure out what we would sing, wear, and also we don’t have any costumes, stage mechanics or lights ready at the moment.”

“It doesn’t have to be that big. Avi, all I want is a casual, intimate venue where we can all just sing together for our family and friends back in Arlington,” I replied patiently. 

I had gone along with Scott’s advice and made a bucket list. I didn’t want much at all really. Just a date with Scott, a real date, not just eating Chipotle together in a hospital room, and of course I wanted to perform with Pentatonix one last time. We’d sing just a couple songs, but the ones people will remember the most. I’d even be willing to travel all the way to Arlington to hold it. It’d be perfect. Where everything began would become where everything would end. One last show with all five of us. 

And now here we all were, all five of us, sitting around a table at IHOP, taking a moment to talk this idea out and just have some time to ourselves. Every moment of every hour since the night I had screamed for Scotty from the other room had been hectic and chaotic, and had felt like I was crumbling to pieces, but here, with my best friends, I felt perfectly calm for the first time in more than a while. And I mean, stuffing ourselves with omelettes and pancakes wasn’t so bad either.

Scott swallowed a bite of pancake. “I totally agree,” he said earnestly. “It’s a great idea! The fans love it when we surprise them. Also an intimate, casual experience would be super special for some of the fans, especially the ones who have been with us since the beginnings.”

“We could do like meet and greets too,” I added on, getting more and more excited about the idea.

Kirstie nodded eagerly. “Oooh!” She exclaimed. “I’d love that!” 

By now, everyone had smiles on their faces. They were laughing and joking and passing around suggestions of where to hold the concert, and when, and what songs to perform. 

Watching them, and their happiness filled me with so much joy that it made my chest hurt. My heart leapt though when I remembered that my body was a ticking time bomb, and I could be gone from the picture, from the equation, from the story, any day. I don’t know if Pentatonix could really be Pentatonix with only five people.

My hand slipped under the table, and grabbed Scott’s, giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure myself. I blinked away blurs of tears out of my eyes, and let them swivel over to meet Scott’s, who gave me a warm smile and squeezed my hand back. 

Another familiar voice caught me by surprise. “Are you sure you’re up to this, Mitch?” Kirstie, who was sitting beside me, asked in a quiet motherly voice. “Like I know it was your idea, but you don’t have to push yourself too far on stage if it causes you pain.”

I smiled sincerely. “I’m fine,” I responded quietly, voice shaking. “This is really all I want. Us, together, performing for the people who care about us the most.”

Her smile was wavering, eyes watering. As we all stood up to leave the table, she wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face in my chest. I could hear her gentle sobs. Instinctively, I rubbed my hands up and down her back, soothing her. Her sudden emotional outburst surprised me but even I couldn’t deny that I knew what it was about.

“Kirstie....” I whispered, voice strained with my own tears I was fighting back. “It’s okay...it’s okay....”

“No it’s not...” she managed to choke out. “I don’t want to lose you.....I don’t....please....just....why I just don’t know.....why this happened to you....” Her hands were holding on to fistfuls of my sweater now for support as she cried and cried. Crying. For me.

I closed my eyes, one hand stroking the back of her head, trying my best to soothe her. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said softly. “I’m still here, Kirst, it’s okay..”

The sensation of large arms wrapping around my waist filled me. Scott. He kissed my ear and enveloped me and Kirstie in a hug. I felt Kevin and Avi wrap their arms around me too. I closed my eyes and cherished it. But before I did that I took in every sight I saw. Kirstie’s quirky and beautiful smiles, Kevin’s giant stature, tall and strong, but his inner gentleness that could comfort anyone, and Avi, who radiated wisdom and peace with his serious expressions and long dark curling hair. 

And then there was Scott. I would always remember Scott. I had memorized every little detail about him. I could paint a perfect portrait of him with my eyes closed. 

They were here to support me. They knew I was suffering and they were willing to put aside everything to make time for me, to make me feel better. 

“We love you, Mitch,” Scott said softly. 

“I love you,” I whispered back. “All of you.”  
———————————————————

The date was August 13th. 

And my heart was pounding. 

The other members were busy warming up their voices, or shuffling through countless fan letters and fan art given to us during the vip meet and greet that had just ended an hour earlier.

I was rehearsing too. But not singing. Rehearsing lines in my head. Not song lyrics though. 

The person in the mirror stared back at me with wide, bloodshot eyes. His face was thin and angular, foundation a shade too dark, eyeliner smudged under and around his eyes. His lips looked cracked and dry despite how many times he had rubbed chapstick over them. He fiddled with the collar of his white blouse, bony wrists poking out of long flowing sleeves. 

I inhaled and closed my eyes, turning around abruptly, almost bumping into a tall figure standing in front of me.

“Scott!” I exclaimed nervously. “I didn’t see you standing there, sorry...” my voice was shaky and uncontrolled.

Scott placed his gentle, yet strong hands on my shoulders, massaging my tense and bony frame. “Are you okay babe?” His voice dripping with worry. “You’ve been standing here staring in the mirror for the past ten minutes.”

I shook my head and rubbed my temples, groaning at the blossoming of a headache forming around my eyes. “Scott,” I whispered. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“We can take another five minutes before going on if you still need to warm up. Do you need your anxiety medi-“

I placed my hands on Scott’s cheeks, staring into his eyes desperately. “No, I’m fine with performing. If anything, signing will make me feel better than ever, but there’s something else....I’m not ready for...” my voice trailed off, but my eyes did not break contact with Scott’s.

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Well, can you tell me? What is it sweetheart?” He looked extremely concerned.

I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it again, eyebrows creasing. “Look, tonight I’m gonna do something, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to.....”

Scott’s face fell as my voice was interrupted by the door slamming open. We immediately tore away from one another, practically leaping to opposite ends of the room. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” Kirstie asked slyly, rolling her eyes. “God, you guys are so paranoid.” She walked over to Scott and I, who had moved back to the center of the room, handing us our earpieces and microphones. “These might be important,” she giggled. “Also we’re on in like two minutes, so if there’s any sexual tension built up at the moment, I’d suggest having a quick make out session to release it.” She stood on her toes and gave us both a quick kiss on the cheek, and waltzed over to the door, but before closing it turned around with her signature side smirk and said softly, “I’ve also heard that kissing or sex before a performance can release the endorphins in the body and it’ll give you more energy and confidence.” The door shut suddenly as she walked off.

Five seconds of silence.

Scott and I stood there, faces red. 

I decided to break the silence. Shatter it. “Can you kiss me, please?” I whispered.

He nodded and took a breath, placing his soft lips on mine. It was the quickest kiss we had shared so far, but it was precious and it’s simplistic beauty was revered by us both. 

“Always,” Scott whispered back after pulling away from my lips. He reached and grabbed my hand gently, his fingers slipping in between mine, fitting together perfectly, like a puzzle.

Now I was ready.

I took a breath.  
———————————————————

I let out a breath, my chest heaving, head facing the sky, hand reaching in the air for some intangible object. As my eyes closed, I could feel the stage lights burning into my back, the crowd screaming, crying, cheering. We had just performed our last song, Aha! and I could still hear my own high note and Avi’s low overtones ringing in my ears.

My eyes opened rapidly, taking in, soaking in the sight of the crowd, of my parents, of my high school friends, of fans that I had met before, fans I had never seen before. 

For a split second I felt as if the crowd had deafened, as my soul began to feel like it was being pulled away from my body, completely lost in the adrenaline pumping through my veins right then. I stood there for a while, still and frozen, as if I was the only one on that stage. 

It took more energy than it should have to snap out of my trance, lower my hand and step up to place my microphone on a center stage stand. My eyes wandered around the crowd and I smiled at them, waving a little to get their attention, to calm them down long enough for me to say one last thing.

“Hey everybody!” I greeted them. “How was the concert?”

The audience roared with applause. I heard one girl shouting ‘marry me Avi!’, while her friend stood sobbing, reaching out and shrieking with joy every time my mouth opened to speak. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I murmured with a giggle. The crowd quieted down and I cleared my throat, face falling solemnly as I chose my next words wisely. “Before you all go home, there’s a few words I’d like to say, to all of you, and that includes these four people right here,” I said gesturing to the rest of the band. 

“I recognize that a lot of people are worried about me,” I began, my words slow and careful. “I recognize there have been a myriad of rumors surrounding me the past few months. I’d like to address these issues and tell everyone the truth.”

They deserved it. The truth. It would kill me inside to explain everything because even I could hardly fathom what was happening and why.

I fought back tears as I began my testimony. And from my very own lips I let my darkest secret be revealed.

“Back in October of 2015, I was diagnosed with stage two leukemia,” I started off, and immediately the crowd fell into a hushed silence.

Several seconds later faces began whitening, hands fumbling over mouths in shock, fans crying and shrieking after realizing what I had said. 

“I had been experiencing frequent discomfort and even pain at that time, so when I went to the doctor that month, I asked them about it...and well....let’s just say that the news was not what I expected.

In an attempt to ignore the pain, kind of let it go and pretend it wasn’t happening, I did not go to the doctor again for a while after that. I began to feel a little better, and decided to forget about my illness and keep it to myself as I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, specifically Pentatonix.

It wasn’t until March of this year, 2016, that I paid the heavy price for my mistakes. One night, I passed out from the pain, and I was taken to the hospital where they revealed to me that the cancer had passed into stage three and that I needed to get treatment immediately. I started chemotherapy a few weeks afterward.

Since then life has been the most chaotic and stressful it has ever been. I thought things would get better, but they just got worse. In May I found out that the cancer had reached stage four, and that I only have several months left to live,”

At this point, tears were streaming down my face, and all eyes were on me, a ghost, making his grand speech before transcending to the afterlife. 

“Although the doctors are working on a new treatment, it will be a miracle if they even come up with something before I’m gone. And so it is with a heavy heart that I announce...” my throat began closing up, words choked by tears. I closed my eyes and took a deep shaky breath before concluding my speech.

“.....I announce that I will be leaving Pentatonix....” I managed to sob out the last words before I broke down, dropping the microphone on the floor, which sent a loud thumping sound ringing through the stadium, crumbling to the ground, face buried in my hands. Sobbing. Crying. Dying. Cutting ties with those I loved the most. Already designing my funeral in my head. Prepared for every breath to be my last. 

My emotions were running too high, my body was too weak, and my patience was too thin.

I was becoming too fragile.  
———————————————————

They had hauled me off stage, limbs like rubber. I had sat unconscious for about half an hour, completely unresponsive, aside from shallow breaths. I was now sitting against the wall, face flushed and a bottle of water in my hand. 

My tired eyes cracked and peeled open and I caught glimpses of faces and heard fragments of voices. Some shouting. Some crying. Some eerily calm.

The blotchy and red streaked face of Kirstin was what I saw first. She immediately flew to the floor, grabbing my shoulders and shaking them in rage. “Mitchell fucking Grassi how could you?” She sobbed, shaking her head in disbelief. Her words were hardly audible through her tears. “How could you? We can’t go on without you, you idiot! You can’t just leave us, we’re helping you-y-you dumbass!”

Kevin placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and helped her back on her feet. “That’s enough, Kirstin.” His voice was melancholy, dark eyes sad and disappointed. “Mitch I’m really confused and sad, really. You should have told us about this before saying all that. I’m sure we all could’ve discussed something before you just made a decision on your own that affects all of us, and our success as a whole.”

Avi agreed, but not before helping me to my feet and enveloping me in a gentle, sincere hug. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he whispered. “There are times where I feel like I would be better off on my own, but just remember that everyone is here to help you, Mitch.” He pulled away, his strong hands resting on my forearms. “My problem, and I think I speak for us all here, is that you’re basically throwing everything away. You’re assuming you’re going to die, and so you’re giving up on your career. But what if you survive Mitch? What if you live and now here you are, lost?”

His words, although captivating and smooth and silky did not affect me. I was frustrated. I was finished. I was fed up with people making decisions for me. This is what I thought would be best for their career and my health. It pained me more than anything to leave them. I had spent nights staying up all night crying, thinking about what I had to do. I had to give up my dream to save them. I was holding them back, and without me, they could continue to soar.

I shook my head slightly. “I already feel like I’m dying. Everyday I can feel my body deteriorating. I don’t want you all to see me as a burden. I can’t go on tour, I can’t make new music videos, I could hardly perform a couple of songs without almost passing out. You guys know I’m a burden to you, so please, make Pentatonix as successful as possible. I believe you can do it without me.”

“That’s not true!” Kirstie screamed, trying to break free from Kevin’s grasp, trying to reach me. “Mitch, please,” she whispered defeatedly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Kevin looked at me with worry. “There’s no way we could find a tenor voice as talented as you..”

“Well I’m gonna die anyway, so now you get more time to pick one since I’m leaving,” I interrupted him bitterly. 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Avi interjected. “Did the doctors ever say they were gonna let you die? They’re trying to find a treatment right now, so you can’t just give up and lose hope.”

I met his eyes, mine dark and dangerous. “They told me I had several months to live. The point is, I’d rather accept my fate than sit around waiting for a treatment that might not work, or might not be ready in time.” My was dry and flat toned.

Avi’s face became frustrated, Kevin’s crumbling with a depressed look, and Kirstie just let out a small sob. Avi put an arm around Kevin and Kirstie, and ushered them out of the room. “Come on, I think we should go get something to eat,” I heard him say in a low, soft voice.

They didn’t even shut the door as they left. I heard the pattering of rain on the windowpane, and here I was lost and alone in the silence. I stood absolutely still, arms wrapped around my waist, eyes fixed on something no one else could see. Numb. Voices echoed in my head. Avi, Kevin, Kirstie, Travis, Mom, Dad, Esther, Dr. Berkley, Scott. 

My whole entire body started shaking. My eyes widened in fear, finally coming to terms with what was happening. 

Where was Scott?

“Wait!” I shouted in a hoarse voice. “Where’s Scott?” My voice was a plea.

At the end of the hallway, Kevin turned around to face me, his frown deepening, eyes saddening. “He’s gone. He left. He was so upset after the concert, he just stormed off and we haven’t seen him since. He told me he couldn’t do it anymore, and I’m assuming he was referring to you, but I’m not exactly sure what he meant.”

My stomach hit the floor and I shook my head in disbelief. Whatever Scott and I were had been going so well, going steady for so many months, but of course I pushed him over the edge, I overstepped my boundaries, I never cared about the limits or the consequences of my actions. 

Scott was finally realizing how toxic we were. I wasn’t in my right mindset enough for a serious relationship, and I should’ve thought of that before committing. And he was willing to save himself while I sank deeper and deeper into the own darkness of my mind.

“He left you, Mitch.”  
———————————————————

“Hi! This is Scott Hoying! If you’re hearing this message it’s because I’m currently really busy right now and I can’t pick up the phone. I am so so sorry, and I’ll try to call you back as soon as I can! Have a nice day! Bye!”

A small beep and the message cut off abruptly. 

That was the nineteenth time I had tried calling Scott. I knew he was ignoring me but I felt so numb, so weak, all my bones had been snapped in half, all the energy, all the passion, all the will to live drained from my body. I just needed to hear his voice. I needed him to light the fire inside of me again.

But instead of being in a hotel bed, crisp sheets blanketing our bare bodies, as we lay together, in love, I was stuck here. Some dingy bar on the wrong side of town. There were crowds of people, drunk people fighting, drunk people hooking up, drunk people laughing obnoxiously with their friends. 

And then there was me. Lost and alone. So numb it hurt. Cold to the touch. Frozen with heartbreak and regret. I was sitting at the bar, at the far end to the right, hands clasped together and resting under my chin, an empty vodka in front of me. And I just stared. I watched. Watched the overhead lamp above me flicker eerily. Watched the bartender and her swift hands as she frantically worked to serve angry and tired customers. 

The voices came back. Avi, Kevin, Kirstie, Travis, Mom, Dad, Esther, Dr. Berkley, Scott. Echoing ceaselessly. Sometimes sentences from different people would be pieced together, confusing my addled and exhausted mind.

It must’ve looked like I was staring at him, but I wasn’t, I swear. He was about eight feet away from me, and my eyes were transfixed on him, but my mind was not thinking of him. In fact, at the time I couldn’t even see him. I wasn’t mentally here, in this crowded and stain-walled old bar. 

I was back at the doctor’s. It was 2015. My hair was still it’s natural color, sides shaved and bangs long and wispy, hanging over my eye. I had a smile on my face as I greeted the doctor, a short Latino woman with a kind face, although my body felt empty and shaky and a bit more in pain than usual and all I wanted to do was talk to her about what the hell was happening to me. 24 year olds weren’t supposed to get fatigued and pained so easily.

She checked my heart, my eyes, my ears, my throat, all parts of me. She then took out a syringe to draw my blood and I extended my forearm to her, closing my eyes and slipping away for a moment as I felt a prick and a sting.

She left for a while to analyze everything and came back after about ten minutes. Her kind face didn’t look so kind anymore, it looked a lot older. Worry must age a person, I suppose. 

But what was she worried about? My heart had began to thump a little louder, and I had to rub my hands up and down my arms and take deep breaths through my mouth to calm my awakening anxiety. I knew something was wrong because the first question she asked was if I had been experiencing any unusual discomfort or pain recently. I replied. And then she said it. And I’ll remember it forever.

“Mitch Grassi,” she said solemnly. “It appears that you have cancer.”

And that scene replayed over and over in my head. Those eight words wouldn’t stop their dreadful echo.

I jumped as a hand fell on my shoulder. I blinked, eyes sore and vision blurry from staring so long. They flew over to the hand’s owner, a tall blue eyed man. “Scott?” I whispered, my speech slurred, mind feeling heavy.

“Hey cutie,” his voice was coy, flirtatious. This wasn’t Scott. My mind was racing a mile a minute, drunk and confused and alone and scared and numb.

And numb. So numb.

So numb that I was freezing to death and I desperately needed someone, anyone, to light me up. Engulf me in their flames. Make me forget. Give me a momentary dose of satisfaction. 

I spun around slowly in the stool, getting up as smoothly as I could without falling over, as my head rushed. “You looking for something tonight?” I asked, eyebrows arching.

Mystery man smirked as his hands wrapped around my back, lowering to my ass. “You’ve been staring at me for the past half hour, and a face like yours is certainly not an opportunity I would pass,” he murmured with a laugh.

“There’s been a lot on my mind, so don’t get your hopes up that I’m that interested,” I replied back, smoothly. We were getting closer now, bodies pressed up against each other, the temperature suddenly rising. 

And our lips slammed together in a heartbeat. I wanted to scream and cry and die and I wanted to stop because it wasn’t Scott and all I wanted was Scott but Scott didn’t want me and now I had to settle for whoever was willing to get caught up in my storm, my mess of a life.

Everything had fallen apart once more. There was one difference, though. 

No one was here to help me pick up all the pieces and put them back together this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the original due date said end of June and this is early August, but this chapter proved to be a lot more diffucult than I thought it would! I know it was kind of messy, but I hope it was still interesting. Part three will be possibly be out in early October. Ironically lol. Please leave kudos and comments! Feedback and critiques is necessary for my improvement!


	3. Part Three: Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Sanctuary
> 
> sanctuary  
> noun
> 
> a place of refuge or safety

My knuckles had turned white from clutching the edge of the sink in all my rage.

My eyes were glued to the man in front of me, my own reflection, his eyebrows creased together, breath deepening, eyes red with tears. The faucet of the sink was running, and had been doing so for the past fifteen minutes, as I had stood here, frozen, unable to move, to turn it off, to let go of the counter, as I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and just one movement could send me plummeting off into the unknown. 

I hated Mitch Grassi in that moment. I hated him so much. He had betrayed me, he’d betrayed us all. 

But I also loved him. And that was why I hated him so much. Because I had never been more in love with anyone than I was with him, and he wanted to leave. To give up. To go home. Go to heaven.

Time stood absolutely still. All was quiet on the outside. But inside, my head was loud.

“Hey, Scott...” a familiar voice called softly. “You in here?” The voice was deep and sultry, pouring over my senses like honey.

Avi was followed by Kevin, both men taking me by the shoulders, my hands wrenching from the counter, fingers shaky and white. I stumbled into their arms, as if in a trance, and I heard them mumbling, trying to snap me out of my shock.

“Scott,” Kevin said, his words filled with concern. “It’s okay. We’ll figure something out. Everyone is confused and overwhelmed, but you need to take a breath right now, Scott,” his voice was slow and steady, reminding me of the way a doctor would talk to a patient, which shouldn’t have surprised me considering the fact that Kevin had attended medical school. “Scott I think you’re having a panic attack, so you just need to go to the lobby where we can have you sit on the couch, get you some water, and check your vitals...”

His words sounded slurred in my ears, and I tried to focus on his face, etched with lines of worry, but it kept blurring in and out of focus.

Mitch....

I needed Mitch....

“Scott can you hear me?” 

No. I couldn’t hear Kevin. But I could hear Mitch’s words, poisonous and bone chilling.

Speaking of his own death so nonchalantly. 

Oblivious to the fact that I cared about him more than anyone in the whole world, so so in love with him, madly in love, head over heels in love.

I took a breath. I needed to find Mitch.

“Just bring me to Mitch,” I said with a grunt, catching my breath proving to be more difficult than it seemed. “I need to talk to him...please, where is he?”

Kevin shook his head, making direct eye contact with me. I tried to stop thinking about how his eyes were almost the exact same shade of chocolate as Mitch’s and listen to what he was saying. 

“Scott,” he said sadly. “I’m not sure if it’s best for you if you see Mitch right now...”

I glared at him. “Why not?” I demanded.

“You’re not really in a good state of mind right now, and neither is he, he’s back in his dressing room, though...” Kevin’s voice trailed off and he began rubbing his hands together nervously.

Avi stroked his beard with anxiety, toe tapping on the tile floor as I stormed off, ready to find Mitch.

“We told him that you left....” Avi said, halting me in my tracks. His green eyes glistened with guilt and his expression fell, trying to defend himself. “Well, uh, we didn’t know where you were, and we wanted you guys to have your space, because we knew you both weren’t feeling like yourselves...” his voice trailed off, and I could tell he was realizing he had made several mistakes.

Anger boiled within my stomach. Avi and Kevin were trying to keep us apart. I wanted to punch something, so I turned away from Avi’s face, who was such a kind and gentle soul that even when he did something that pissed me off so much, I couldn’t even stay mad at him for more then five minutes. “I’m completely fine,” I snapped. “I need to talk to him. This is all just a huge misunderstanding.”

Avi stood a bit straighter, grabbing my arm with unexpected force. His voice was low when he spoke. “Please don’t say anything you’ll regret. Please don’t make this situation worse for him. We need to respect his decisions. I regret what I said earlier, but I was angry at him too. Just remember that it’s not up to you to save him Scott, you’re not the only person who cares about Mitch.”

He was right about that. I wasn’t the only one who cared about Mitch. But I was definitely the one who cared about Mitch the most at this point, so much it was unhealthy. I nodded slowly and turned on my heel, leaving Avi and Kevin standing nervously in the silent restroom. 

The halls were a blur as I marched down them and it was a miracle I was able to walk in a straight path but I could see the dressing room labeled ‘MITCH’ in my peripherals and it was as clear as day. 

With a turn of the doorknob that made a snapping sound, I swung the door open, the hard wood crashing into the wall, probably leaving a dent. 

“Mitch!” I called. 

All that stood before me was an empty room. 

There was a note on the windowsill.

I picked it up cautiously, unfolding the thin paper. The handwriting was sloppy and rushed, and the paper was wet with tear stains, but I could recognize the curved letters and delicate penmanship anywhere. It was the same handwriting that had scribbled song lyrics all over my arms when we were bored in math class, it was the same handwriting that had delivered me love poems, and it was same handwriting that wrote some of the most beautiful lyrics to Pentatonix songs, and signed posters for fans, and nowadays, medical documents.

I felt fire rise inside me as my hands gripped the paper harder and harder, crinkling it and eventually tearing it. 

The first line was: I have to leave you. I’m sorry.

Bullshit. 

I didn’t even want to read the rest of it. 

If Mitch wanted to break up with me again that was fine. But he could at least say it to my face. I didn’t need him anymore. I’d prove that to him.

The paper landed in the trash, ripped into small unreadable pieces. 

I headed out the open door, holding back tears so much that my throat ached, eyes wide and burning, head held high. I walked briskly, and shouldered past Kirstie in the hallway. 

“Scott!” She called out, grabbing my arm, exasperatedly. “Scott! Where have you been?”

I swung around to face her, hands balled into fists. I ignored her concern about me and asked immediately, “Where the hell is Mitch?” 

“Scott..” she whispered softly. “Calm down, please...” she grabbed my hands and rubbed my palms with her thumbs, and I felt my heart begin to stop pounding. When she spoke her voice quivered, fearful of my reaction. “Mitch left, Scott. He told me he needed to go out alone, he didn’t specify where or how long. I didn’t want him to leave, but what could I do? If he needed to be alone I couldn’t force him to stay.”

Shivers of shock rippled up my spine. How could they just let Mitch leave? He was sick, he wasn’t okay, he shouldn’t be alone. All the possibilities of what could happen to him ran through my brain. I shook my head slowly. “He left me....” was all I could say.

I could go out and find him, but I was tired. I was tired of us. Tired of the confusion, of the pain. Not knowing what he was thinking or why he did the things he did was hurting me, breaking me apart every time he did something reckless or without thinking. If Mitch wanted to be alone, I’d let him. He could take care of himself. 

I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket. My heart raced and I pulled it out. 

The name ‘Mitch’ with little heart emojis came on the screen. 

Mitch was calling me.

I inhaled.

And I declined the call.  
———————————————————

My body, stiff and sore from stress, sank into the plush mattress of the soft white hotel bed, reminiscent of a cloud. My eyes stared at the ceiling, everything still and unmoving, the world completely silent. 

Don’t think about Mitch.

Don’t think about him.

Don’t think about how much you miss him.

Don’t think about how lonely and empty you feel without him.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand and it took all the willpower within me, so much so that all of my muscles began to ache, to not pick up the phone. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to know that he was okay. But I was upset with him. I hated him and what he had done. There was a war raging in my heart. 

Mitch had called me several times throughout dinner. I had ignored every call. And he was still trying to reach me. What did he want? Why was he doing this to me, leaving me, but wanting to talk to me at the same time? Did he even consider how his actions made me feel?

I became flustered, my relaxed pose turning tense, hands balling into fists. I sat up, taking off my shoes, and socks, when I heard a gentle knock at the door.

“Come in,” I replied lazily.

It was Kirstie who tiptoed into my bedroom, her face still caked in makeup from the performance, hair made up in stiff curls. She was wearing a pair of pajamas though, and smiled softly to me. 

“Hey noodle!” She said excitedly, hopping on to my bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I grumbled, and rolled my eyes at the nickname. “I mean it’s been a long night,” I gestured to the clock which read 1:45 in the morning. 

She nodded, taking one of the pillows and hugging it to her chest with a yawn. “Well you should get some rest. I just wanted to come in here to keep you company. You were very quiet during dinner- like scarily quiet, so I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I shrugged apathetically, although my eyes watered a bit. “I don’t care anymore. He’s gone...and he knew doing this would hurt me, but he did it anyway. That’s what angers me the most,” my voice broke a little, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, head aching. “But I still miss him.”

Kirstie rubbed my shoulder, eyes sad. “I do too,” she began. “But Mitch is doing what he thinks is best for him. If being with you, if being with Pentatonix, was taking such an emotional toll on him, that it affected his physical health...” she shook her head in confusion. 

“But he seemed so happy,” I explained. “And he made a promise to me...we made a promise to each other...never to leave one another again. But he broke it,” I whispered, tears clouding my vision. “Nevermind. I don’t want to talk about this, about him, right now.”

She enveloped me in a tight hug, soothing my crying. “Hey, Scotty, it’s alright,” she said softly. I closed my eyes tightly and rubbed my hand up and down her back, trying not to notice how she was the same size as Mitch, and when she hugged me, how much it felt like Mitch.

“Please...” I whispered. “Stay here,” I managed to whisper in between sobs. “I don’t think I can be alone tonight... there’s another bed, you can sleep in..”

She shook her head. “No way. I’m sleeping right next to you,” she said and when I tensed she laughed and rolled her eyes. “Scott, we’re basically twins. There’s nothing wrong with us sleeping in the same bed. You don’t like girls anyway.”

I managed to laugh a little. “Well, you’re not wrong.” We both flopped onto the comforter, heads sinking into the pillows. I smiled and something about the way we laid there reminded me of the times when she and I would sit on my bed and talk about boy problems and broadway and Beyoncé’s newest hit single and our hopes and dreams for hours and hours after school. 

Except for the fact that Mitch was always with us. Because we weren’t just Kirstie and Scott, we were the Trio. And The Trio couldn’t be The Trio without Mitch Grassi.

My phone buzzed again.

“Oooh!” Kirstie exclaimed. “If its a random caller we should answer the phone and prank call them.” She picked up the vibrating phone and stared at the screen, her hazel eyes glistening, smile turning into a straight line.

“Oh. Well then. It’s Mitch,” she replied hesitantly.

“I know,” I said hastily, taking the phone back with a snatch. “He’s been calling me all evening.”

Kirstie looked confused and hurt. “And you’re not going to answer him? Scott, that doesn’t make you any better than him now.”

I shook my head and declined the call. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to him,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“But you do,” she said with a sigh. “Don’t fight your true feelings.”

My stomach began to twist into knots at the whole situation. I shook my head. “I’m gonna take a shower,” I said getting up abruptly, anger buzzing inside of me. 

Kirstin stood up as well, facing me. “Well I guess I better wash off this makeup,” she said tight lipped, walking swiftly out the door and shutting it softly behind her as she left. 

Even after the door had shut, I still stood there, alone. The phone buzzed again. 

And even though it pained me, hurt my heart to do so, I let it buzz. 

Over and over again.  
———————————————————

A shower really does clear the mind. Kirstie eventually came back to my room and she and I fell asleep after watching several episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race. 

And now here I was, in a dream.

Or a nightmare. They blurred together these days.

I had been waking up in tears and cold sweats more frequently, haunted by these strange dreams. They would never make any sense, and I’d only remember parts, like a certain smell, or something I heard someone say. I had a puzzle, but I was missing a couple of the pieces. And the puzzle just didn’t look like anything recognizable without those few pieces.

And now here I was, sitting in the middle of an empty pew of an old cathedral, a sinking feeling stirring in my stomach. I was wearing a fully black suit, tie, shoes, socks, slacks, and all. I certainly wouldn’t wear an outfit this dark unless it was for one occasion: a funeral. I stood up slowly, my hands shaking, confusion and anxiety making my heart race, as I scanned the church. 

As I stood there, searching for an answer to where I was, a woman in a long black dress, which hugged her waist and flowed down her legs gracefully, appeared before me, almost fading into existence. Her lips were blood red, her eyes glossy with tears, her blonde hair curling and falling like a waterfall down her shoulders and back. She looked beautiful. But she looked so sad.

“Kirstin?” I asked cautiously, reaching my hand out to her, only to retaliate when I watched as my hand faded through her forearm, as if she was a hologram. Or a ghost.

She didn’t notice I was there. She held a bouquet of what looked to be water lilies, baby blue and pastel pink, close to her chest. Tears began to flow down her cheeks, but I watched as she took a deep breath, exited the row and headed down the aisle towards the front of the church with her head held high. My heart wrenched, and I slowly followed her, anxiety wracking my brain.

“Where are you going?” I asked her, but then cut myself off, remembering that this was all a dream and everything around me was intangible. 

So instead of attempting to get her attention, we walked in silence, aside from the gentle taps of my dress shoes on the marble floor. 

She stopped in front of a large box, about six feet in length. Her hands flew to her face and she broke down in sobs. Ugly, disgusting, heartbroken, gut wrenching sobs. She collapsed onto the floor, dropping the flowers at her feet, hands clutching the edge of the box for support. 

I began to tiptoe forward, as I had been standing several feet behind her. My heart was pounding as the box came nearer and nearer into my view. My eyes darted back to the floor, and to the right and the left of me, and back to Kirstie, anywhere but the box. Because I knew what the box was.

It was a coffin. And I had a pretty good idea of who was inside.

But I wanted to be wrong. I prayed that I was wrong.

My heart pounded and I felt my body wrack with a sob. I wanted to comfort Kirstie, and I wanted her to comfort me because it was Mitch. It was Mitch who was in there and Mitch was dead and this was his funeral and Mitch was dead.

Mitch was dead. 

Mitch was dead. As in not alive. As in not living, not breathing, not moving, not singing, not smiling, not loving me, not being loved by me. 

Mitch was dead.

Those three words hurt me more than any physical pain could ever.

I finally took the final step of faith, my hands shaking as I grasped the edge of the coffin, peering at the figure inside.

They had him wearing a satin suit in a color he would’ve never approved of, hanging loosely off of his frail bones. His beautiful chocolate eyes, which I longed to gaze into, were gently shut, long and dark eyelashes splayed across his cheeks, which were artificially rosy. His hands were crossed across his chest, a single pink rose clasped in them. The position looked awkward and the man in the coffin didn’t really look like Mitch, even though I could tell who it was from a mile away. 

Part of me knew this was a dream, and maybe that’s why it hurt so much. Because it wasn’t real, but it seemed so real that I was terrified this was a vision into what the future held.

My gaze didn’t leave the cold body in front of me, so beautiful and pure, even in death. His lips looked so soft, even though they had lost their color, they were even perked up at the ends. I found it ironic that someone who had suffered so much, dying tragically, dying so young, looked so happy in death.

I couldn’t even make a sound. I just stood there silently as the tears continuously streamed down my cheeks, feeling numb, shocked, and in more pain then I ever had been before.

I shivered as I felt a figure moving behind me. I turned around slowly to see Kirstin staring straight at me. It was scary. She couldn’t see me, so she was looking right through me. 

Then she said, “Scott,” and her voice was thick with tears and deep with some sort of anger that I couldn’t quite justify. 

I felt my body go cold as fear shot through me at her dangerous tone. “Yes?” I asked, puzzled at how she could suddenly see me. 

“Why the hell did you come here?” She said, tone still dangerous. Threatening.

I gulped and rubbed the back of my neck. “Why wouldn’t I be here?” 

Although still being about a foot shorter than me, even in heels, her erect presence managed to make me feel small and insecure. Her eyes were daggers. “Mitch died alone, because you couldn’t come to him sooner. I sat with him for hours, while we called you, begging, pleading, for you to come, while the rest of us watched him die alone, without you, sobbing because all he wanted was you, all he ever wanted was you beside him in the most terrifying moments of his life, the final moments, but you didn’t bother to show up. You wouldn’t answer the phone.”

Oh god no. Everything was starting to make sense and I hated it all.

“He loved you Scott! He loved you more than anything! How are you so dumb? How are you so blind? How could you let one little bump throw the car completely off the road? How could you let one little mistake ruin everything? SCOTT! SCOTT, DO YOU HEAR ME? BECAUSE OF YOUR IMMATURITY, MITCH DIED CONVINCED THAT YOU DIDN’T LOVE HIM, THAT YOU DIDN’T CARE ABOUT HIM!”

I flinched, backing up from the coffin, tripping down the steps, my heart pounding in fear. I shook my head in disbelief. She was right. How could I be so stupid?

As Kirstie and her sobs and screams faded to silence, the cathedral and Mitch and the coffin faded to darkness, my scattered thoughts, half conscious, half unconscious, swarmed in my brain.

Don’t you dare ignore his next call. 

And if he doesn’t call again, call him before it’s too late.

I woke up screaming, my hand grasping for my phone so hard that my fingers ached.  
———————————————————

“Mitch...

...Mitch please,

If you’re there, please answer the phone. I’m so sorry about everything, I’m sorry about ignoring your calls, I don’t know where you are or what you were doing last night, but I miss you.

I miss you. And yeah, I’m angry and upset and confused. But please, I need to talk to you and uh, to see where your head is at right now.

And, I uh, just wanted you to know that I love you...

...Please call back. Bye, Mitch.”

That was the fifteenth time I had called him this morning. And the fifth voice mail I had left him. Worry was tearing a hole inside me, eating away at me. What if I never heard his voice again? 

“What if I never hear back from him?” I voiced my thoughts aloud to Kirstie, who was rubbing my back, trying to calm down my anxiety, as well as helping me to reach Mitch. It was to no avail. He wouldn’t answer her either.

Kirstie’s nails traced my spine, a curving s shape, steadying my uneven breathing as I wiped away frustrated tears from my eyes. “Shhhh, Scotty,” she whispered. “Breathe. Relax. Don’t ask yourself those questions. You’re just hurting yourself at this point. He can’t ignore you forever.”

“But you were right,” I rubbed my eyes with my sweaty hands. “I do love him. I do miss him. I need to run to him, I need find him, I need to save him.”

I felt her sigh as she massaged my shoulders, tense with what felt like the entire weight of the world on them. She rested her head on my back gently and groaned with frustration and sadness. “Scotty, you need to calm down. It’s not up to you alone to figure everything out. Besides, we know this town inside and out. And it’s an awfully small one too, so it’s not like Mitch could’ve gone far. We can get dressed, get some breakfast, and go search for him later if you would like.”

I was about to open my mouth when the door creaked open. A tall and thin woman, chestnut hair tied in a messy topknot, peeked her familiar face out from the open door. “Hey babes,” Esther said with a smile that was a little too large to be genuine. Her eyes were bloodshot and she seemed to have aged ten years overnight, wrinkles and dark circles covering her skin. “We have some important issues to discuss. Meet in the lobby in five minutes.”

Kirstie nodded solemnly and got up slowly to leave, following Esther out the door. As she shut the door, she made eye contact with me, her hazel irises sympathetic and mouthed the words, “it’ll be okay,” to me. I managed to give her a small smile and slipped on a clean t shirt and a pair of Converse, running my hands through my dirty hair, fringe flopping in my eyes. Did Kirstie know what was happening? Did she know what Esther was talking about? Something about everyone knowing what was going on except for me made me feel nervous, and frankly, a little hurt.

After several more minutes of trying to make myself look somewhat presentable, I headed out the door and down the stairs to the lobby of the hotel. My hand continuously fidgeted with my phone in my back pocket, part of me praying that I would get a call from him. Just a sign that he was okay. That was all I needed.

They were gathered by a coffee table, sipping lattes, and chattering quietly, but something about the way their faces were downcast turned the atmosphere around them dark and uncomfortable. I, of course, being the last one to arrive, caused all their eyes to look up and meet my tall figure. I took a seat across from Esther, and our eyes met, intense blue and dark amber challenging one another. 

“What is this about,” I said the question as a statement. A demand. I was bitter. I was hurt. I was anxious.

Esther sat up straight and placed her phone in the middle of the table. We all peered down at it, and my eyebrows creased in confusion. What appeared on the screen was a picture of a young man, probably about eighteen to twenty years of age, tall and thin, with skin the color of sand, hair a dark onyx color, soft and curly, smile wide and teeth white. I bit my tongue. His eyes were chocolate too. My heart stung.

Esther didn’t look happy when she smiled at me. “This is Nick Perry. He’s fresh out of college, and it’s been said that he’s a very talented and a skilled tenor voice. A lucrative singer that many record labels are trying to get on their side-“

“No,” I said slowly, silencing her. In disbelief. “You can’t be serious.” 

“We need a new tenor,” Esther retorted.

I slammed a fist on the coffee table. “He’s not dead!” I shouted.

She shot a glare at me and nodded. “Yes, he isn’t. But he’s made it clear that he has made the decision to leave Pentatonix.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I could feel everyone tense and I shut my mouth in embarrassment.

Esther didn’t break eye contact with me. “I’m not happy about this either Scott. I’m not gonna lie. Not one part of me wants to meet Nick. Not one part me wants him in Pentatonix. Look, Scott, we all are suffering. You’re not the only who was close to Mitch. I stayed up all last night, sobbing, because I love him and I miss him too. Mitch is the most talented singer I have met and one of my best friends too. Losing him is certainly the worst thing that can ever happen to Pentatonix, but we have to respect his decision. And we have to continue to make music.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to argue against her. But I couldn’t. I had no tears left to cry. Every one of her points were true. There was nothing I could say. Anything I could say would make me look ignorant and like an idiot. 

Esther continued speaking, her voice shaky. “Well, Nick lives in Los Angeles. We’re going to meet him tomorrow. That means we have to get on a plane tonight. I’ve already booked the tickets and everything.”

“And leave Mitch here, alone?” As soon as she finished her sentence I started mine. My voice rose in pitch. “Do you even know where he is?” I shouted. 

Esther stood up, and I noticed that she was only a few inches shorter than I was, which made me feel more intimidated. “Mitch is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

I felt my eyes watering, and I scanned the four faces in front of me. I felt betrayed. I felt alone. “No,” I snapped. “I’m not going with you. I’m staying here. I’m a grown man too. And I can make my own decisions. This is what I think is right. For me. For Mitch.”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “Very well,” she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Go find Mitch. He needs you. You need him.”

“Thank you,” I whispered as Esther enveloped me in a hug. I could feel her pain as she rubbed her hands up and down my back. She was divided. She wanted to hold Pentatonix together. She wanted to be there for Mitch, but she needed to help the band thrive. It was too much weight on her shoulders, and I felt horrible for snapping at her, for getting angry at her. This wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. 

“I promise I’ll find him. I’ll make sure he’s okay,” I whispered back to her as we continued to embrace, her head burying into the crook of my neck. “And when I find him, we all have to reunite.

We’re a family. And a family stays together till the very end.”  
———————————————————

It was October.

The breeze was chilling, and left me with cold shivers running up and down my spine. The sparse grass was blanketed by leaves the color of fire and warmth and and light and blood. People were happy. People were drinking pumpkin spice lattes and talking about Halloween and kissing under the oak trees with their hands in each other’s pockets.

And here I was, hands shoved deep inside my own pockets, nervous fingers fiddling with my phone to check if anyone in particular had texted or called me at all. 

Today marked exactly a exactly week since I had arrived in Arlington, Texas. It was October 8th. It was exactly 3:39 PM, when my phone buzzed, and I shot out of my seat in the quaint little Starbucks cafe, rushing out the door, my latte spilling over my hand and stinging my skin. 

I took a quick sip of the drink, my tongue becoming washed with warmth, tastebuds screaming. The cup was tossed in the trash as I hastily answered the call, hands shaking as I rested the phone against my ear. 

Because the call was from Mitch. 

“Hello?” I stammered. “Mitch? Mitch where are you? Are you okay?”

The voice on the other end of the phone wasn’t Mitch. I felt my heart stop, terrified for a second of why someone was calling from Mitch’s phone and who it was. 

“Scott? Oh lord, thank god you’re here,” the voice of an older man, a familiar voice, caused my tense muscles to relax. 

“Mr. Grassi?”

He paused to find his words. “Scott, it’s Mitch. Mitch is here with us....and please, Scott, you need to come now...”

Panic flooded my veins, and I hopped into my car, phone propped against my ear with my shoulder, sweaty hands gripping the wheel. “Where are you?” I demanded, as I pulled out of the parking lot and sped onto the street.

“We’re at Arlington General Hospital,” Mitch’s father’s voice cracked with grief.

I knew every corner of this small town, and it only took but a second to recall the directions to the hospital. The same hospital I had been taken to when I was eight years old and had fallen off the monkey bars during recess and broken my arm. And now Mitch Grassi, my best friend, my love, was in that very hospital for God knows why.

“Is he okay?” I dared to ask the question. 

Silence.

“No,” was the reply I got.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I slammed on the brakes as I stopped at a red light. Irritation filled me as I itched to be at Mitch’s side. All I could think of was that I needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible, as quickly as possible. 

The light changed green. I slammed on the gas. I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. “How bad is he?” I was feeling brave, not afraid of the truth. 

It was going to be painful, but I deserved it. Because this was my fault, after all.

“Just get here first. I just want you to get here safely.”

I smiled sadly. Mitch’s father was so caring, always concerned about others. 

I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, doing only a half decent job at parking. “Of course.”

I got out of the car, shaking and exhausted with anxiety. Before hanging up, I spoke once more to Mr. Grassi.

“I’m here.”  
———————————————————

I was led through the dimly lit halls of the  
hospital by two nurses, an Asian woman with a kind smile and a thin blonde woman with tired eyes, and a doctor, a dark haired man with a thick beard and sympathetic chocolate eyes. 

They flanked me and walked briskly, and I was becoming exhausted and sweaty in my heavy coat as I managed to keep up with only the help of my long legs. 

“Mitchell Grassi is in this room,” the Asian nurse stated, her eyes worried as she stopped next to a wide door, shut closed. The room was at the end of the hall, and I tried to peer through the small window in the center of the door, but the blonde nurse shouldered past me with a sad smile as she opened the door, and let us all in.

Mitch’s father, Mike was up on his feet and enveloping me in a bear hug before I could even enter the room. My heart thumped, as I rubbed his back, comforting him in his pain. He pulled away quickly though, and smiled through the tears, his eyes shining with gratitude and sadness.

“Oh Scott,” he sighed. “You don’t know how thankful we are that you came.”

I nodded. “Of course. You know how much Mitch means to me...”

He smiled again, and it made my stomach drop. Here was a man whose son was dying, and the way he looked at me as if I was his own son wanted me to scream and cry because this man didn’t deserve to lose his only son, and his son didn’t certainly deserve to die. 

“Are you ready to see Mitch?” He asked quietly, voice breaking. 

Was I ready? That was a good question. I furrowed my brow and nodded with a gulp. I needed to see Mitch. Whatever condition he was in, he needed me. I needed to see him and all his beauty.

The bearded doctor led us into the room and towards the bed, which was near the far end of the room. It was a larger bed than the one Mitch had stayed in when he had first been diagnosed, and there were a lot more tubes and wires and machinery that made me sick to my stomach as I tried to decipher what they could be used for.

Before I got any closer, the doctor placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I turned around, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Yes?”

The doctor smiled sympathetically. “You’re Scott Hoying? Like from Pentatonix?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He beamed, eyes crinkling. “My daughter loves your music. I think you all are so incredibly talented, and on top of that, are such wonderful people. We’re doing our best to help Mitch, and I wanted to thank you and everything you’ve done with your music. You’re changing lives. It’s beautiful.”

I was speechless. This man was literally doing everything in his willpower to save Mitch’s life, and here I was doing absolutely nothing, and yet he was thanking me. “Thank you so much. But seriously, I should be the one thanking you. You’re literally saving lives, and it’s amazing. I really can’t thank you enough.”

His eyes were sad and he looked down at his feet. “It’s my job,” he replied with a smile. “There are times though, when my job seems impossible. There are people who I can’t save, but I can’t do anything about it. Mitch is in critical condition at the moment. We actually don’t know how much longer he has left to live, but we are analyzing every possible solution to save him, no matter how obscure or risky.”

Tears welled in my eyes and suddenly the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. I shivered and placed a hand over my mouth as I fought back tears. “Did the cancer get worse? What is all the machinery for exactly? Does he need surgery....or...I don’t know...I just- I thought he was going to get better,” I stated, voice shaky.

“Mitch actually didn’t come to the hospital because of his cancer. He had called 911 and was brought here.“

“Why did he call 911?” I interrupted. My heart was pounding. I would’ve assumed that Mitch’s cancer had gotten worse, but the fact that Mitch had called 911 scared me. 

The doctor rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “According to the police, he had called them from the bathroom of the bar down the street. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but it’s not a great place to be late at night. He was heavily intoxicated and seemed really shaken up, like really scared. I was told that the police took him to the hospital after he managed to tell them about his cancer. Once he got to the hospital, I immediately started treating him, as his vitals were extremely unsteady. The day after he wouldn’t wake up. His heart was barely beating, he was barely breathing. Since then, he’s been going in and out of unconsciousness, and it’s painful- it’s so painful to see him fighting for his life. He has every odd stacked against him but he’s holding on for dear life, and he’s not letting go. He has an incredible spirit, really. Any other person in his condition would’ve been dead by now.”

I was left with my mouth hanging open, totally aghast. Why had he been at a bar, when he knew goddamn well that drinking was dangerous during cancer? Why had he been found in the bathroom of all places and what had happened there? “I- I don’t know what to say... oh my god... why the hell did no one tell me sooner?” My voice was trembling, I was furious. 

“Lack of communication? We’re not only dealing with a battle with cancer, but an assault case too. We don’t know what happened in that bar that night, but it wasn’t pretty,” he said with a sad sigh. He put a hand on my forearm and led me to Mitch’s hospital bed. 

I didn’t want to cry in front of this man who looked up to me, whose daughter saw me as a role model. I didn’t want to feel weak in front of these people who were fighting tooth and nail to save the love of my life. I didn’t want to cry in front of Mitch’s parents who were still strong even though they were experiencing much more pain than I was, as they watched their child try to fight death right before their very eyes. 

But I cried anyways. I couldn’t help it. You would’ve cried too if you were me. 

Mitch seemed even thinner than I had last seen him, if that was even possible. He was so pale, he made the white sheets look dirty. His eyes were softly closed and I could see his chest rise and fall, breath shaky and uneven. The monitor that read his heart beeped every few seconds, but it was at a feeble and weak tempo. He had an oxygen tube that connected to his nose, and there were so many miscellaneous wires in various parts of his arms, chest and torso that were measuring other organs, but I didn’t want to think about what those monitors were saying. Perhaps the worst part about all of this was his beautiful face, covered in so many cuts and bruises, especially the red and dark purple hand shape around his neck. My stomach was twisting into knots and I was beginning to lose my breath. 

Someone had hurt Mitch. Someone had tried to intentionally hurt Mitch- maybe even kill him. After the rivers of tears had ceased, my blood boiled with anger. Someone had hurt Mitch. 

No one should ever be allowed to touch Mitch like that. 

The doctor, whose name tag read Dr. Adam Paulson, looked at me with worry lines marking his forehead. “You okay?”

The room was closing in around me. I felt panicky and trapped and my breathing was turning into hyperventilating, becoming quicker and shallower. This was all my fault. I was a fucking idiot. I should’ve been there for Mitch. I could’ve saved Mitch. But instead, I was a selfish asshole who had let this happen to Mitch without even realizing it.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I whispered through my spinning head and my tears. 

I ran out of the room and collapsed on the cold floor in a ball of despair, letting out uncontrollable sobs of grief. 

This was all my fault.  
———————————————————

My body jolted awake. 

My eyesight was blurred, and my mind was groggy with exhaustion, but the baby blue sheets, fluffy pillows and the SpongeBob plushie were unmistakeable. 

I had spent most of childhood in this room, when I wasn’t in my own. 

This was Mitch’s room. The room he had when we were kids.

Memories flooded back to me, and I buried my pounding head in my hands. I grabbed the blankets and sniffed them, wondering if they still smelled like Mitch, a scent that I had longed for more than anything else, the soothing scent of almond and vanilla. I smiled sadly as I caught a whiff of the scent, as it had faded after all these years. 

“Scott?” Asked the voice of Mrs. Grassi, as she creaked the door open gently. “Scott, are you awake?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, my mouth dry and throat sore. She walked quietly over to my bedside and sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes watery and kind. She placed a gentle hand on my forehead, smiling when she felt no sign of a fever, and instead began brushing my dirty hair back out of my face. 

“Are you okay? How are you feeling?” She asked the typical motherly questions. I replied with a quick nod and a simple, “tired.”

I took the SpongeBob plushie and pressed it close to my chest, closing my eyes and then opening them again. Mrs. Grassi smiled sadly again, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as she got up off the edge of the bed and stood beside me. “This was Mitchy’s old room,” she said shakily. “Of course, you would already know that.”

I gave her a small laugh and sighed. “It’s not like I spent like my entire life with him or something,” I said sarcastically. “This house is definitely a second home to me, and you’re like another mom to me.”

She grinned and a glimmer of joy shone in her sad eyes. I noticed that her eyes were green, and that she didn’t have Mitch’s dark brown eyes. He must’ve gotten them from his father. Nevertheless, her eyes were still beautiful, just like his. “Dear Lord, I miss him so much...raising him was the most amazing experience of my life....I’m so, so, so proud of him and to see everything that he’s accomplished....oh my God, I just...my son...he....” her shaky words turned into sobs as her eyes flicked across the room, until they reached a picture frame holding Mitch’s senior photo. “Oh God....I remember...when he was really young, he always had a gift for singing, but he was so shy, so, so, so shy. But he had a hunger, a desire to perform in front of others, to have his voice be heard, but he was terrified to do so. He would come down stairs and tell us that he wanted to sing for us, but the whole time he’d stand where we couldn’t see him.....and now look at him, he’s a star.”

I shook my head. “He really is something else. He’s incredible. I don’t think there’s anyone quite like him.”

“No, no one quite like him at all,” she said eagerly. “We enrolled him in acting classes and community theater at such a young age...because...we knew he had such a great talent for singing, but we wanted to give him enough confidence to really perform....” 

She broke down in sobs and I got up as quickly as I could to catch her before she fell to the ground. “But now he can’t sing for anyone.....he can’t talk....he can’t move.....he just lies there.....and I’m not ready for my baby to go....oh my God....why do you have to take my baby from me?” Her words were almost inaudible through her tears, but I let her cry into my shoulder as I rubbed a soothing hand across her back. I felt chills run down my spine as she silently demanded God why He was taking her son, her baby, her Mitchy.

“I love him so much....” she whispered.

It was very quiet. I inhaled.

“I love him too,” I whispered back. “I love him more than anyone I know. All I think about is how much I love him. All I see is his face, all I hear is voice. He means more to me than anything else in this entire world, and if I could, I would trade our places in a heartbeat, and if it meant that I would be in that hospital bed, suffering, and he would be here, alive and well, I would still do it. Because Mitch Grassi is my everything.”

She let go of my embrace, and looked me in the eyes with a smile. “Oh my God...” she whispered. 

I chewed on my lower lip awkwardly. “I have something that I should’ve told you, or Mitch should’ve told you sooner, but we chose to keep it a secret from pretty much everyone. Mitch and I have been dating,” I paused and took a breath. “Actually today would’ve been our five month anniversary,” I added hesitantly.

She shook her head in disbelief but her tear streaked and blotchy face was beaming. “Thank you, Scotty, oh my Lord, thank you. This whole time, you were with him, giving him love and support. Thank you, thank you! This whole time, he was dating the kindest young man on the planet, and I didn’t even know.”

I gave her a worried glance. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner...Mitch didn’t want anyone to know besides Kirstie...”

“No, no it’s okay! It’s fine,” she said quickly. “One night I remember Mitch called me, this was before the whole cancer thing, and he was really upset. He was crying because he realized he loved a boy but that boy was taken and he didn’t want to get in the way of their relationship, but it pained him to hold onto his feelings. I told him that everything would be alright, that he’d find someone who would love him, but I asked him who this boy was and he told me it was you, Scotty.”

“M-me??” I stammered. “Mitch had a crush on me? How long ago was this?”

“2014, I believe. So two years ago.”

I was shocked. I was blushing. I felt like a high school girl who had just found out that the hottest guy in school liked her back and was planning on asking her out to the homecoming dance. There was no homecoming dance for Mitch and I to go to though, only hospitals. And I was only able to dance with him in my dreams.

“Anyways,” she continued. “My point is, I was worried about Mitch and his love life. But Scott, listen, you are the kindest, most caring, most positive ray of sunshine I have ever met. You bring so much joy into everyone’s lives, and the fact that Mitch had you through all of this puts me at peace. He had someone who loved him. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t scared. If you and him have each other, there’s nothing the two of you can’t do.”

I shook my head, eyebrows creased in disappointment, disappointment with myself. “But I screwed up, Mrs. Grassi. We fought a lot and I didn’t care for his needs the way I should’ve. If I had gone after him that night of the concert, instead of storming off because I was offended that he had left Pentatonix, he wouldn’t be in the condition he is right now. He probably hates me and wants nothing to do with me anymore, and I wouldn’t blame him....”

“Nonsense,” she snapped. “That boy loved you two years ago. He told me he loved you so much, and he hated himself for it. There’s no reason for that intense of a feeling to go away. Every relationship has heartbreak and hardships. Every relationship, no matter how compatible, is going to have issues. People aren’t perfect Scott, you aren’t perfect, but you’re a great human, and you’re a smart man. You need to be there for Mitch now, and when all of this is over, you can apologize to him and save your relationship. Because guess what, Mitch still loves you no matter what, and he won’t stop fighting to get to you until his final breath.”

Her hands gripped my shoulders and she smiled proudly. “We’ll get through this.”

I smiled back at her. Maybe. Maybe, somehow, we would.  
———————————————————

I couldn’t breathe. 

My hand was being squeezed tighter and tighter by a nervous Kirstin, who had just arrived in Texas this morning, but her jet lag and nauseous stomach hadn’t stopped her from coming with me. 

“Are you going to open the door?” She asked cautiously. Her voice was timid. She was scared. I hadn’t told her what exactly had happened to Mitch, but she had an idea that it was very bad, and it was a miracle that he had regained consciousness. 

“....yeah...” I stammered. “I don’t know what I’m going to say, Kirst. It’s been a whole month without him...” my voice began to shake. “There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to apologize for....”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for. This wasn’t your fault Scotty. I’m pretty sure Mitch won’t blame you for anything,” she said calmly as she stopped squeezing my hand and instead massaged my clenched knuckles. 

I shook my head in remorse. “No, you don’t understand....”

“I do understand,” she snapped back, which startled me. “Let me put this into perspective for you, Scott. Do you love Mitch?”

“Yeah, more than anything...”

She raised her eyebrows. “Then there should be no reason for him to feel any differently. He loved you. He’s going to continue to love you. Nothing is just going to change a feeling as strong as love.”

My eyes widened and I furrowed my brows. She was right. She was so right. But for some reason, I wanted Mitch to hate me, I wanted him to blame me. That would be easier, wouldn’t it?

Kirstin turned the knob of the door gently, and it opened softly with a creak. We tiptoed in the room, which was completely silent, except for the hushed whispers of Mitch’s parents and the bearded doctor, Paulson. 

“Hi,” I greeted lamely. 

Paulson whipped around and grinned widely at me, even offering a firm handshake, which I accepted awkwardly. “Hey Scott, how are you doing?” 

I shrugged. “I’m guess I’m just nervous to see Mitch...”

“Understandable,” he said more seriously. “It is difficult to see a loved one who has gone through so much, especially a significant other.”

My heart pounded as I heard the words ‘especially a significant other’ come out of his mouth. My face flushed and turned bright red. 

Paulson, of course, didn’t notice or question my reaction. “Is this lovely lady Kirstin Maldonado?” He asked kindly, shaking her hand as well.

Now it was her turn to blush. “Yes, that’s me,” she said with a giggle. “I like this doctor,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth to me, who was still in shock. 

“Come with me,” Paulson ordered, walking over to Mitch’s bedside and gesturing for us to follow. We walked slowly behind him, shuffling our feet, our fingers entwined again, giving reassuring squeezes to one another’s hands, silent messages that everything was alright, everything was okay, everything was just fine.

And as my eyes glanced up from the tile floor to the chocolate orbs in front of me, my heart skipped a beat, and I felt tears of joy cascade down my cheeks because everything was fine. 

“Mitch....” I heard Kirstie whisper next to me. 

Mitch. Mitch was alive. He was okay. He was looking right at me. 

“Scott....” I heard him whisper, and it took everything within me to not burst into tears. Instead I placed a hand over my mouth, as I let the tears silently fall down my cheeks.

“Scott...” he whispered again, and I stepped closer. Our faces were only inches apart. We didn’t say anything for several moments, just stared into one another’s eyes, falling deep into the seas of brown and blue. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Kirstin and Mike and Nel Grassi backed up, giving us space. 

He was sitting up in the bed, but I got the impression that he was still in a lot of pain and couldn’t move, so I reached for him, taking his hand gently, fitting each one of my fingers in between his, like a puzzle piece. 

I smiled gently, bringing his fingers, white and limp, to my lips, planting a soft kiss on each fingertip. “God, I missed you....” I whispered through tears. “Please don’t scare me like that again, Mitchy...please don’t ever leave me again Mitchy...”

He smiled at me softly, and I could see through the lines of his face how weak he was. He was exhausted. “I’m sorry.....I’m sorry....I messed up again....I-“

I cut him off as he began to cry. “Mitchy, don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn’t have ever let you leave that night....”

He shook his head ever so slightly. “No...I shouldn’t have ever left in the first place. And then on top of that, I did something bad, and I’m really sorry, I’m so sorry Scotty....”

I furrowed my brows as I felt my stomach churn. My voice was cautious. “What did you do? Mitch, I love you no matter what...”

“Not after this,” he interrupted.

“Mitch...” I said firmly.

I let him sit there, crying for a few moments, my thumb still rubbing his knuckles. “Mitchy...” I said more softly this time.

“I don’t want you to hate me...” he sobbed.

“Why would I hate you?” I asked. “Mitch, I love you. I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than anyone else in the world.”

He shook his head in denial. “No, not after this, not after what I did.”

I was bewildered. “Well what did you do? What could possibly be so horrible that you think I could ever hate you?”

His eyes flickered down and away from my gaze. “That night....when I left...I wanted to die....I was going to kill myself. I wrote you a whole letter explaining everything. I didn’t see any point to continue to suffer when I could just choose my fate, and end it all then. Did you see that letter....? I left it in my dressing room....”

“No...” I breathed. “No....Mitch....why....that’s what that letter was?” 

I felt like an idiot. I felt so selfish, so insensitive. I had read one sentence of the damned letter, believing it to be a break up letter. It had been a suicide note.

Mitch wanted to kill himself that night. And he had written me a suicide note.

Mitch blinked away his tears and continued to explain through his sobs. “I went to some dingy bar and drank....a lot.....I drank a lot of alcohol.....I’m not supposed to do that....because it’s dangerous. And then, everything blurred together...but I remember there was this man, and I....and we.....he...”

My stomach sank. I had a feeling, a sinking feeling, where that hand shaped bruise across his neck had come from. 

To my surprise, Mitch didn’t break down again, but continued, his eyes meeting mine again. Chocolate irises shiny and glossy with tears. “We made out and before I knew it, we were in the bathroom and he was touching me everywhere....but I didn’t stop him....and I wanted it....but I should’ve known that he was extremely drunk too...which made him violent.....I wanted to be touched....but he was grabbing me so hard it left bruises....so I called the police.....and the next thing I remember is waking up here....”

I felt numb. I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t disappointed. I couldn’t care less that Mitch had cheated on me, he hadn’t been in his right mind, he had been heavily intoxicated, and I could tell he regretted everything. All that mattered to me was that he was okay. His health and his well being was all that mattered to me. 

“Do you hate me now?” He whispered. And it broke my heart. 

I looked into his eyes with watery irises. “Mitch,” I began sadly. “I could never hate you. I’m worried about you though....your life is a beautiful thing and I need you Mitch, I need you to keep fighting for your life. And I’m sorry, I didn’t read your letter. I was so selfish...God, I was horrible. I read the first sentence and assumed you were breaking up with me and threw the rest of it away....”

Mitch smiled softly. “It’s okay....none of that matters now...”

“But it does...Mitch, I need to know...are you okay?” I asked my voice dripping with concern.

Silence.

“I think I’m okay...” he said slowly, softly. 

“I’m okay now that you’re here.

You’re all I need.

And I love you, Scott.”  
———————————————————

The next day Kirstie and I arrived at the hospital with chocolates and roses for Mitch. 

I had told Kirstie everything that Mitch said last night, as we sat alone in his bedroom. 

She had burst into frustrated tears, and I had held her close, telling her that Mitch was fine now, to my knowledge, and that he was going to get better. He was going to get better. And then everything would go back to normal. 

Kirstin had told me that back in LA, she, Esther, Avi, and Kevin had met Nick Perry, the possible new tenor. She told me he was a nice kid, but as they sang together, she just didn’t think their voices harmonized the same way that hers and Mitch’s did. He didn’t fit in with the rest of the group. It was as simple as this. Pentatonix wasn’t Pentatonix without Mitch Grassi.

We signed into the reception desk, and headed through the hallway to his room. I was walking in front of Kirstie, leading the way, but stopped suddenly when I saw that there was a crowd of doctors and nurses outside of the door. 

Kirstie bumped into me with an ‘oof’ as I halted abruptly. “What?” She demanded. She came out from behind me and stood with her mouth agape. “Oh,” she whispered.

“What’s going on?” I asked myself aloud. One of the nurses, one with curly blonde hair, glasses, and a round face, ran past me, and I tapped her shoulder, causing her to turn around in surprise, her eyes wild with stress and confusion. 

“Sorry!” I exclaimed as she shrieked at my sudden touch. “Are you alright?”

She laughed nervously and ran a hand through her curls. “Yeah, I’m fine. What do you need sir?”

“I’m here to visit Mitch,” I informed her. “And I was wondering what’s going on over here? Is he okay?”

She shook her head frantically. “He’s in critical condition right now,” she said worriedly. “We don’t know for sure what happened, but some time last night, the cancer got really aggressive and almost stopped his vitals. Luckily, he’s still fighting, but if we don’t figure out what to do next, he could be dead by tomorrow...”

She whipped around as her name was called by a doctor. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I hope everything goes well, we’re trying our best!” She exclaimed as she left.

I stood there, aghast. “But he was getting better...” I stammered. Kirstie shook her head in disbelief. 

“This is impossible,” she whispered, voice shaking. 

“Move out of the way!” I heard a doctor shout as he pushed a stretcher through the hallway, towards the emergency room. The man on the stretcher was covered in a breathing apparatus and wires and tubes and machinery, and about fifteen nurses and doctors were doing calculations, checking the monitors, trying to decipher how they could save his life. 

How they could save Mitch’s life.

“Please!” I shouted after the swarm of doctors and nurses. “Please, someone tell me what’s happening! Hello?” I called, but they were further down the hall now. I stood there, hopeless and lost. 

“Now what?” Kirstie asked quietly after several seconds of empty silence. 

I shook my head in disbelief and pushed past her, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway. 

I marched down the corridors, looking for someone to give me answers. Kirstin ran behind me, trying to keep up.

“Scott!” Exclaimed a familiar voice. To my relief, Dr. Paulson was marching towards me, sweating profusely, and his eyes were tired and drained of all energy, but he still managed to smile at me as he shook my hand in greeting. 

After a wipe of his brow and a deep breath, he faced me with an expression so serious, it made my stomach drop. I had never seen the man so resolute, his eyes dark and his mouth a flat line. “Those nurses are rushing him off to chemotherapy right now. Emergency chemotherapy. He needs high doses of it if we are to perform what comes next.”

My stomach churned. “What does come next?” I asked impatiently.

The lines on his forehead creased together, and he placed a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “Scott, I’m going to explain this to you as detailed as possible in as little time as possible, but if you need clarification on anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Do you understand?”

I blinked in surprise. The tone of his voice was dreadfully dark and serious. “Yes..” I stammered.

“Good. Obviously chemotherapy isn’t strong enough to kill Mitch’s cancerous cells, so he is going to be undergoing an allogeneic stem cell transplant,” he said, pausing for me to process the information.

Allo-what transplant? I thought, my head pounding.

”You’re looking at me like I’m speaking Japanese right now,” he began. “So I’ll explain in further detail. As of now, Mitch’s stem cells are damaged from his cancer, they’re not developing normally, and therefore neither are his blood cells. By transplanting new cells into his body, he will be able to make new and healthy stem cells, that can produce new and healthy blood cells.” 

I nodded slowly. That made sense. Kind of. “That makes sense...” I trailed off. “I’m glad you’ve found some sort of solution,” I said with a smile and then paused. “Wait, who’s donating their cells to him?”

“Well,” Paulson said nervously. “That’s the problem. This was all so rushed that we haven’t been able to find a donor. The best donors are those who are related to him, but we ran a few tests, and his parents appear to not be ideal matches for this transplant.”

I shook my head. “No...” I whispered. I felt my blood boil. We were so close. We were so close to saving him. This just simply couldn’t be what kept him from living or dying. “He needs a donor! You need to find him one!”

“Scott, if his parents couldn’t even donate their cells, it’s very unlikely we could find anyone else to do it...”

I stood there quietly for a beat, my fists clenched and heart racing. Then I took a breath.

“I’ll do it.”

It was worth a try.  
———————————————————

I sat alone in the small hospital room, waiting for Dr. Paulson to arrive with the results. 

It was all up to me. Only I could save Mitch at this point. 

And that terrified me. I wanted to scream and cry. This was unfair, this was ridiculous, this was the worst possible thing I could imagine. I, Scott Hoying, could be the reason why Mitch lives or dies.

I watched with empty blue eyes as the door handle clicked, turned, and the door swung open, revealing Paulson. I didn’t look up from the floor as he walked in and stood in front of me. I was too busy cracking my knuckles, tapping my toe anxiously against the tile floor.

“So?” I asked timidly as he stood there staring at his clipboard with unreadable emotion.

He laughed in disbelief. “Well, to my surprise and relief, you and Mitch’s cells are almost a perfect match. You’re certainly the ideal donor for him.” 

I blinked in surprise, confused at what he had just said. “What? You mean....I...he...huh?”

He grinned happily and patted my shoulder. “Your cells will be donated and transplanted into Mitch’s blood. Your cells will be responsible for fighting the cancer and possibly saving Mitch’s life.”

I was stunned. I was overcome with emotion. A sense of power, of strength, of meaning, flooded over me and I stood up to face Dr. Paulson, locking eyes with him. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” I whispered quickly, my voice strained from holding back tears. 

Paulson nodded. “You’re a noble and admirable person, Scott. Now, this process of taking your cells will take about two hours, so please, take as much time as you need to get comfortable before we begin.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded with a sigh. “Alright,” I agreed. “Whatever it takes. I’ll do it. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Paulson smiled as I laid down on the table, my eyes softly closing, taking a deep breath in preparation for my operation. 

It was a weird thing to think about, the fact that my cells could save Mitch. The fact that my cells would be in Mitch’s blood, fighting against the deadly disease by giving birth to new, healthy cells. 

This whole time, I had always thought that I wasn’t doing enough for Mitch, that I was failing him. It was a horrible feeling, a sinking feeling, a dreadful feeling, to watch a loved one die, and not be able to do anything about it, to not be able to do anything to help.

But I could help. In the most important way possible.

I could save Mitch.  
———————————————————

“Did I do it?” I asked groggily, my head spinning as a nurse with very curly hair tied back with a scrunchie, helped me off the table.

She smiled sympathetically, her grip tight on my shoulder, keeping me from falling over. Everything was spinning and was blurry. I didn’t really care though, I felt giddy and couldn’t stop smiling. “Is Mitchy okay?” I asked, my words slurred.

The nurse laughed uncomfortably as she led me out of the room, into the hallway where Kirstie was waiting for me with a look of concern on her pale face. It was hard to tell exactly, though, as everything was a blur. Was that even Kirstie? Or was it just a blur of color?

“Hey noodle,” Kirstie greeted me with a smile, taking my hands, steadying my balance. She turned towards the nurse. “Will he be okay?”

She smirked and laughed softly. Her voice was gentle and smooth like honey. She kind of reminded me of Beyoncé for some reason. “He’ll be fine in about an hour. But, in the meantime, take care of him,” she said with a wink. “He seems like quite a handful.” 

After the nurse had walked away briskly, Kirstie turned back to me, who had sat down on one of the small plastic chairs, my pounding head buried in my hands. “You okay, Scotty?” she asked softly, placing a hand on my head and running her fingers through locks of soft blonde hair.

I looked up at her and nodded. I didn’t feel happy anymore. I just felt tired. And my head hurt, my bones felt like rubber, and my stomach was so nervous, it made me nauseous. “I want to go home, Kirst.”

“Of course,” she replied. “We’re going back to Mitch’s parents house. And we’re going to relax. And we’re going to hope and pray, but we won’t worry. And then we’ll come back here in a week to check on Mitch. We’ll see how he’s doing. And it’ll be over. 

We’ll have either lost...

...or we’ll have won.

And then, this will all be over. And we can all be together again.”  
———————————————————

A week passed eventually.

It was the longest seven days of my life.

For the first day, I laid in Mitch’s bed all day, staring blankly at the baby blue ceiling. It really was a beautiful color. It reminded me of my childhood, the good old times when everything was simple. Kirstie and Mrs. Grassi had come in several times to see if I was okay, but I would just close my eyes and pretend to sleep as they entered. I didn’t eat anything that day. I didn’t speak to anyone. 

By the second day, my body felt normal enough to get out of bed to get some food. I avoided talking to anyone if I could.

On the third day, Kirstie baked me pancakes, and we spent the day in Mitch’s bed, watching Netflix, Disney movies to be specific, and avoiding the elephant in the room. And that elephant was my ever growing anti-sociality, something that was very out of character for me.

I had gotten out of the house on day four and went shopping with Kirstie and Mrs. Grassi, ignoring my own insecurities. My therapy for my worries was spending an excessive amount of money on clothes and food. I did manage to find Mitch some nice gifts as well. 

Friday, the fifth day, rolled around and I was finally confronted by Mrs. Grassi that morning. I thought I had done a good job of hiding it, but I guess I was wrong. 

“Scott?” She had asked with concern as she intercepted my path to the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” I asked, still exhausted, and in desperate need of coffee.

“Is it all right if I ask you something?” Her voice was timid.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Is there something on your mind? Is there something you want to talk about? Something bothering you?” 

And so from that moment on, I realized I couldn’t hide my fears anymore. I broke down in terrified tears, confessing to Mrs. Grassi that I had done what I could to help Mitch, and I knew that if it worked, everything would be okay. But if it didn’t work, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I would be afraid that everyone would blame me, because I tried and I failed. 

I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that happened. 

Mrs. Grassi assured me that everything would be okay, and if it didn’t work out, and it truly was Mitch’s time to go, that they would never blame me for his death. They would instead support me through the hardship, asking me to support them as well.

Saturday, the sixth day, was much like the first day. My stomach was so nervous I could hardly breathe, as I was terrified of what the next day had in store. I would either watch the love of my life die before my eyes, or he would go home, eventually get better, and we could continue our normal lives. So I slept all day, waiting for Sunday to come. 

On Saturday night, I prayed. Praying was something I had been doing much more frequently than usual, as I begged God, if he was even up there, to save Mitch, to not let him go yet.

And now it was Sunday morning. 

We had just arrived at the hospital.

All four of us, Kirstie, Mrs. Grassi, Mr. Grassi, and me, had our hands grasped together tightly, giving light squeezes to one another for support and reassurance. 

Mr. Grassi signed us in at the reception desk and we began the long walk to meet Dr. Paulson in front of Mitch’s room, where we would be given the news.

“Scott! Kirstie!” I heard a familiar voice shout from behind us. I whipped around to face the owner of the voice, and as did Kirstie. 

Facing us was a tear-streaked-faced Esther, a very somber Kevin, and a wide-eyed Avi, all bundled in heavy coats, as the late fall weather in Texas was chilling.

Kirstie and I ran to them, being embraced in a enormous group hug, everyone sobbing a little and rubbing our hands on one another’s backs and shoulders. 

“When did you guys get here?” I gasped in disbelief. 

“Last night,” Esther replied with a sad smile, and I noticed how exhausted she looked- how exhausted they all looked. 

Avi nodded and stroked his beard, deep in thought. “Kirstie has been telling us everything that’s been happening. The stem cell transplant, the fact that Scott was the donor, that today we’ll be told whether or not Mitch will live.”

“We couldn’t sit by any longer,” Kevin said, his voice deep with sadness. “We all love Mitch, and miss him terribly. If this truly is our last goodbye, we all need to be there to comfort him.”

I nodded, and I felt fear strike my heart. This could mean the end. I could be saying my final words to Mitch tonight. 

Tears fell down all of our cheeks, and we embraced again, arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders, huddled in a circle. I shut my eyes tight, silently praying that everything would be okay, but then I heard Kevin’s voice, calming and guiding, and my eyes shot open.

“Dear Lord my father,” he began solemnly. “Thank you so much for blessing me and those around me with the best community of people available to help Mitch through this incredibly hard time in his life. I know whatever happens is what’s best, but please, I ask that you let Mitch live, as he has a wonderful life ahead of him. If it is his time to go to you, I pray that you welcome him into your kingdom. We are putting our trust in you to do what you know is best for everyone in the end. Amen.”

We all stood there for a while, letting his words sink in, maybe even saying a few more words silently to ourselves. “Amen,” I murmured in response. 

We let go of one another and headed towards Dr. Paulson, who was whispering something to Mr. and Mrs. Grassi, who were standing together, Mr. Grassi’s arm around his wife, holding her as she sobbed into his arms. 

My heart froze, my blood turning to ice, completely terrified. 

But then Mrs. Grassi turned around and her green eyes were shining with hope. 

And she was smiling. The widest, happiest, warmest smile I had ever seen.

She didn’t even need to say anything. No one needed to say anything. 

Because Mitch was standing right there in front of me.  
———————————————————

He was standing right in front of me.

Sure, his eyes were dark and he still looked frail and exhausted. He was wearing a wrinkled hospital gown and had an IV tube in his thin arm, as well as another tube in his nose that connected to an oxygen tank. But he was alive, he was breathing, he was smiling, he was standing, and his eyes were shining.

Those beautiful chocolate eyes. 

God, I had missed them so much.

I took a step closer to him, and held out my hand, which was shaking, as I became overcome with emotion. 

He grasped my shaking hand, and our fingers entwined together, pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together. Our hands were both shaking, but as they clasped together, they steadied. 

I watched as his lip trembled and his eyes overflowed with tears, but he closed them quickly, blinking the tears into oblivion, and bit his bottom lip.

“Is it true?” He asked in a hushed voice, so that only I could hear him. 

I took a step closer to him, so that our faces were barely apart. “What is, sweetheart?”

“Is it true that you saved me?” He asked softly, his beautiful eyes wide with wonder, sparkling and dark with curiosity.

“I guess you could say that,” I responded humbly. 

He smiled widely and I could see it in his eyes, as they peered deep into mine, that he loved me. All he wanted was to be by my side. All I wanted was to be by his side. 

Our lips, one pair pale and chapped, the other pair soft and pink, were seconds away from touching, and even here in the hospital, surrounded by all these spectators, there was no escaping the inevitable. 

I felt my lips touch his and my hand moved to cup his face, fingers trailing gently across his jawline, thumb stroking his cheek. I planted the gentlest kiss I possibly could upon his lips, which sent shivers down my spine, and set my heart ablaze. 

It was a simple kiss. But it was filled with love. Pure love. 

“Thank you,” Mitch whispered after he pulled back from the kiss ever so slightly. “Thank you for saving me, Scott.”

“I’d die for you. I’d travel to the ends of the earth for you. I’d give up everything I have if it meant I’d be by your side forever. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” I informed him, my voice heavy with emotion. “I love you.”

His hand met my face and began stroking my cheek as well, wiping away every stray tear that escaped my ocean eyes. “I love you too.”

Then he giggled quietly suddenly, and it made my heart leap. I didn’t realize how much I had missed the sound of his laugh until I heard it. It was lovely. “You know,” he said with a playful smile. A childlike smile. “Your cells are inside of me.”

“Yeah,” I said with a snort of laughter. “It’s a crazy concept.”

“I have a part of you, inside of me, forever,” he whispered into my ear. “We really can never leave each other again.”

“No, we can’t,” I agreed with a grin. 

“We are one,” he whispered with a giggle and a smile. My heart warmed and I embraced him, feeling his face bury into my shoulder, hands gripping onto the fabric of my sweater. I ran my hands up and down his back, still terrified of how I could feel every bone through the blue paper material. What if he didn’t get better? What if the cancer came back? It wasn’t even gone, but it had decreased. I pushed down the poisonous thoughts and kissed the side of his neck, holding him closer than I ever had before, not wanting to let go.

I had missed this so much. I had missed how when he kissed me on the lips he had to stand on he tips of his toes to reach me. I missed how his eyes were so dark, the most beautiful shade of brown, but they always shown in the darkness. I missed his giggles, how he laughed like he had no cares at all. I missed the way his mouth perked up and he smiled widely with his shining white teeth when he was happy. I missed his voice. I missed his body against mine. I missed his hands clasped in mine. I missed his lips against mine. I missed hearing his gentle heartbeat as we slept next to one another. I missed him and everything about him.

I could tell he had missed me too. I didn’t have to worry about anything. Because his heart belonged to me and my heart belonged to him. Some people are just meant to be, and there should be no denying it or questioning it, because we were each other’s better half, each other’s soul mates. 

I whispered in his ear one more time before we pulled away from the embrace, “When we get back to LA, I’m taking you on that first date we never got around to doing.“  
———————————————————

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” I asked, growing a little impatient as I waited at the door for Mitch to finish getting ready to leave the apartment. As I awaited his reply, I turned around to peer at the large mirror in the hallway, straightening my navy blazer. 

“Yeah! Just a second!” I heard a flustered Mitch yell from upstairs.

I rolled my eyes playfully and laughed at his response. Of course Mitch had taken an hour and a half to get ready. I usually would’ve been more frustrated with him, because that meant we were eating later, and I definitely was starving. But the fact that he had taken so long to get ready meant he was getting back into his normal routine after being trapped in a hospital for so many months. Things were gradually becoming okay again.

I heard his high heeled boots clicking down the stairs, and immediately my gaze was drawn to the thin and graceful figure that appeared before me. He looked like an angel, like a goddess, as he stepped down the last stair to greet me.

I took his hand, perfectly manicured nails catching my eye, and lead him to the front door, where I noticed our sphynx cat, Wyatt, was rubbing against my legs, purring and mewling to get my attention.

I placed one hand around Mitch’s waist, the other still holding his hand. His eyes were sparkling, and he had beat his face, skin a shade darker with foundation, eyebrows thicker and more defined than usual, cheekbones and nose popping with bronzer and highlight. He was wearing a simple maroon sweater and black skinny jeans, but the shining black boots and his various pieces of expensive jewelry brought the outfit to a whole other level. 

“You look ravishing,” I breathed, leaning in to kiss him hard on the lips. 

He laughed and kissed me back, a lighter peck. His lips tasted sweet, and I noticed he was wearing some sort of scented chapstick. “And you look devilishly handsome,” he replied with a playful smirk. 

As we exited the apartment, petting Wyatt on the way out the door, the crisp night air embraced me and I shivered. It was the end of October and the air had finally cooled down enough to wear sweaters and drink hot coffee, but not so cold it was unbearable. It really was quite a romantic atmosphere.

We were taken to the restaurant by an Uber, which was nice because the whole ten minute drive there, Mitch and I made out in the back of the car while Love On The Brain by Rihanna played from the car radio. 

I payed the driver and thanked him, and we headed inside the restaurant, which was bustling with waiters and waitresses dressed in white collars and black skirts and pants, and all kinds of people, couples and individuals alike, all of them well dressed, aloof, and loaded with money. 

I lead Mitch to the table I had reserved for the two of us, our arms linked together. I watched as we walked further into the restaurant as his eyes sparkled with wonder at the candles, shining silverware, polished dishes, fine leather seats, and satin tablecloths. 

As we sat down, I kissed the tops of his knuckles and raised my eyebrows. “So,” I began. “How is this for a first date? Too fancy? Too large? Too quiet? Too-“

“It’s perfect,” Mitch said softly, cutting my worries off. His eyes grew wide with shock. “But how did you afford all this? This looks so expensive. And I certainly don’t want to waste any of your money after all the medical expenses I caused you to pay.”

“You’re worth every penny,” I reassured him without hesitation. “Besides, we’ve never been on a date before and we’ve been dating for almost half a year now. It’s ridiculous. Life got messy, and things got in the way, but I feel like this is important, and you’ve been through so much, you deserve to be spoiled a little bit.”

I saw him blush in the dim candlelight. His eyes glowed amber brown and he smiled sweetly at me. He was beautiful. He was strong. He was a survivor. He was a fighter. He was my hero. 

After being admitted from the hospital, life didn’t go automatically back to normal, as expected. I knew there would be challenges, and I would face them with an open mind, an open heart, and open arms. The first few nights back in LA were rough, though, really rough. Mitch was still pretty weak and had to take a lot of medications which made him feel depressed, but if he didn’t take them he felt very fatigued and nauseous and achy.

We eventually changed his medications and in a few weeks, he was feeling happier and more like himself. We began sleeping in the same bed again, as there was no way Mitch could sleep by himself anymore. For a whole week, he woke up every night screaming and crying, and I would hold him tightly, soothing his sobs by singing him gentle lullaby’s and massaging his back and shoulders. 

I wasn’t sure what his nightmares were about, but I had a feeling they had something to do with his cancer, which was dying down, but still haunting him, or they had to do with the man who had assaulted him in the bar bathroom that night. 

Speaking of which, Mitch decided against pressing charges on the man. The police had offered to investigate who the man was, since Mitch never got his name and could hardly remember what he looked like, but he had turned down their offer, blaming everything on the alcohol and claiming that the man probably meant no harm, he was just extremely drunk and in the mood for physical attention. 

Something about that put me at unease, and worried me. Mitch should be advocating for his own safety, and should be more concerned about his physical and mental well being, but I decided that I didn’t need to interfere with anything. Mitch knew what was best for him, and if that whole situation would only bring him stress, then we would avoid it all costs.

Despite all of these struggles, we were heading closer and closer to normalcy every day. Mitch smiled more and he stopped having so many nightmares. His health improved and he gained some much needed weight, only a few pounds away from a healthy weight. His hair began to grow back ever so slightly, so that when I kissed the top of his head, little hairs prickled my lips, which made me laugh. I was so proud of the progress he had made. 

It was moving. It was touching. It was inspirational.

The evening was just as I had imagined it being. Absolutely perfect. We didn’t say much, but when we did, we would stare into one another’s eyes until we felt like we were melting away, drowning in our love for one another. 

By the time we got back to our apartment, we were both exhausted and stuffed, but that couldn’t stop us from incessantly making out. My lips wouldn’t stop tracing every inch of his face, planting kiss after kiss after upon him. And his hands never left my body, he was always grasping some part of me, begging for my kisses and embraces. 

There was no avoiding it.

As soon as we got to our bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed and Mitch sat on my lap, wrapping his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist. 

“Oh my god,” he breathed as my kisses traced his cheeks, down his jawline and eventually his neck, where I nipped the skin near his collarbone. “Scotty...”

I kissed his collarbone, the area where I had left the love bite, and he laughed heartedly. His hands moved to my face, and he stroked my cheeks, and ran his fingertips across my nose, tracing its figure from the bridge to the tip. He giggled again and looked me deep into my eyes, and I realized I was completely enamored by the way he touched me, the way he looked at me. He leaned forward and kissed me hard on the lips, so hard that I had to shut my eyes to soften the blow of our lips smashing together. 

Sparks were flying, but the night was just getting started. Mitch gasped after the kiss ended and began swiftly flinging off his bracelets, necklace and rings. My heart began to race and I knew exactly what was coming next. 

“Mitch...” I said in a hushed whisper. “Are you ready for this?”

Mitch didn’t hesitate to answer me as his hand moved off my chest and further down my abdomen. “You’re all I want Scotty. I’m willing to give you all of me if you will give me all of you.”

I felt my face flush as he got up off of me and stood in front of me, taking off his sweater slowly. I got up off the bed too, and as if in a trance, walked over to him, placing my hands on his hips. Every inch of his body was beautiful, every tattoo, every freckle, every mole, even the jagged and protruding scar on his forearm from his transplant was beautiful in its own way. 

Moments passed and he was standing in front of me completely naked. 

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him naked before, but I struggled to breath as I took in all his beauty, displayed right in front of me, and for my eyes only. 

He was a fucking masterpiece. Every detail about his body was sculpted by God himself, to create the most perfect human being that had ever graced the Earth.

Thoughts ran rampant in my brain, making my head spin. Dirty, dirty, dirty thoughts.

“Is something wrong Scotty?” Mitch asked timidly, voice breaking, and I realized that I was staring at him, my mouth agape, looking like a complete idiot. I shut my mouth quickly and shook my head, feeling sweat drip down the back of my neck. I needed to get out of this suit as quick as possible. 

Mitch looked at me with a worried expression and it broke my heart. I, of course, saw Mitch as a work of art, the most beautiful person to ever live. But it hadn’t crossed my mind that maybe Mitch didn’t see himself that way, and that standing here, exposed and completely see through, was hard for him, and he was scared that I was disappointed or disgusted.

“I was just thinking about how you’re the most beautiful human being I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I murmured softly, reassuringly.

He smiled again and looked down at the floor as he reached over to me and hastily undid the buttons on my blazer and my button-down shirt, slipping it off my shoulders as he stepped closer so that our bodies were pressed up against one another.

My heart was pounding as he bent down to undo the zipper and button of my pants, sliding them off slowly as his hands moved down my waist to my legs and eventually to my ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

We pressed even closer and I heard him moan softly as we kissed one more time, nibbling his bottom lip as our hearts pounded in sync, both beating as fast as they could as our bodies began to light on fire.

Moments later, the hungry kisses had subsided and Mitch and I fell back onto the bed, my body pushing him back into the pillows, both of us moaning and gasping for air, whispering words of love to one another.

“I promise that I’ll never try to leave you again,” he whispered in the dimly lit room, as his hands moved down to my crotch.

I gently ran my hand over his head, finger tips being prickled by little hairs that were trying to grow back. I blinked sudden tears away as memories flooded over me from the past year; Mitch crying in pain in the middle of the night and then having to be rushed to the hospital, only to find out the next day that he had cancer, and had been hiding it from everyone. Driving Mitch to all his chemotherapy appointments, no matter the weather or the time of day, kissing him for the first time, calling ourselves boyfriends. Finding out that Mitch only had a few months left to live. Getting into arguments, slowly drifting apart, not being able to understand each other anymore. Mitch wanting to end his life and everything he loved about it, leaving me for what seemed like good, and quitting Pentatonix. Finding out a month later that Mitch was going to die, unless he could find a donor. And then ultimately saving Mitch by being his donor, as we were the moon and stars and we were made for one another, and we were uniquely different people but still somehow one and the same.

“I love you, Mitch,” I whispered. “I want to give you the world. And I’ll give it to you, if you’ll let me. Just don’t give up...we can’t guarantee that everything will be perfect but we can damn well be alright if we have each other...”

I could tell Mitch was scared and had doubts. But I knew I was right. 

I didn’t know if everything would stay normal. I didn’t know if his cancer would come back, and if it would come back to stay and take him away from me forever. But for now, none of that mattered.

We had each other. 

And everything was okay. Even if it was just for now.

Because when we were together, every worry, every mistake, every fear, every heartbreak, melted away.

“I promise I won’t give up,” Mitch whispered back, and I could feel his cheek against the palm of my hand, warm and sticky with tears. “I don’t want to leave you ever again,” his voice trembled.

“And I love you too, Scott.”

And so we fell asleep in one another’s arms that night to the sound of the October breeze whistling through the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I can’t believe I actually finished this! If you actually got through this fic, good job! I hope you enjoyed this fic, because I certainly enjoyed writing it! Please, share this fic with your fellow scomiche shippers and pentaholic friends, because I worked very hard on this and I’d love for more people to read it. Please leave comments and kudos, too if you’d like. Love you all! Thank you for your support and for reading my mess of a fic! Maybe it’s not over?? I might be writing a few short spin off fics?? Maybe an alternative ending??? Or an epilogue??? Or some scenes that were mentioned but were never described in detail??? Who knows! I also am going to start working on another scomiche fic, so stay tuned for the first chapter of it. :D


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